Father of Mine
by Roswalyn
Summary: Life and their separate careers have caused Nancy and the Hardy brothers to drift apart. But a mutual tragedy intervenes to reunite them again, in what may be one of the most personal mysteries they've ever encountered. Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This is my first fic in a long time, and my first Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys fic ever. Feedback would be greatly appreciated, and always responded to. Also, I don't really know any other writers so I'd love it if someone would be interested in being my beta. Thanks in advance, and I hope you enjoy!

**Father of Mine**

By Roswalyn

Twenty-four year-old Nancy Drew was muttering to herself as she strode across campus, late for her morning Behaviorial Psychology class. It was one of her favorite classes, and she hated missing any of it. But her roommate had decided, yet again, to "borrow" her car to go to pick up her morning coffee. And of course, by the time she returned, there had been no way Nancy could have driven to campus and arrived to class on time. As it was, Nancy didn't even have the time to give her roommate the angry lecture that she had worked out in her head while she was waiting for her to return. Not for the first time, Nancy desperately wished that George and Bess were her roommates, just like when they were all getting their undergraduate degrees. But both girls had immediately jumped into their careers as soon as they had graduated -- George interning in the physical therapy department for a local hospital, and Bess a fashion consultant for a major department store. Nancy sighed inwardly. Despite her roommate woes, she was happy that her two best friends had found careers that were so perfect for them. Now if she could just figure out how to find the perfect roommate!

Her blue eyes flashed with annoyance as she thought of all the other ways her roommate was currently driving her crazy. Not one to care about grades, Janna lived for the night life -- parties, clubbing, and bringing random guys home with her. And although she always apologized profusely to Nancy after she had disturbed her yet again late at night, she continued to keep up with her busy social life. Nancy shook her head resignedly -- she should have known better than to let Bess recommend a roommate for her.

A strong gust of wind blew a strand of Nancy's blond hair into her face, which she pushed back impatiently. She was oblivious to everyone she passed, including the occasional good-looking guy who usually turned to check her out. Unlike Bess, she wasn't boy-crazy, and although she enjoyed looking nice as much as the next girl, she didn't consider herself necessarily striking or the type to catch the attention of every guy she met. As far as she was considered, men were a complication that she didn't need in her life at the moment.

As Nancy continued to hurry to class and think of satisfying methods of torture for her roommate, her cell phone rang. The caller ID said the caller was "Unknown", and she really didn't need anything else delaying her from getting to class. But just as she was about to put the phone away, her innate curiosity got the better of her, and she answered.

"Hello?"

"Nancy Drew?"

"Yes?" Nancy replied, not recognizing the gravelly voice on the other end of her phone.

The voice chuckled, and for no reason whatsoever, the sound sent chills down Nancy's spine.

"Do you know where your father is, Nancy Drew?"

"Who the hell is this?" Nancy demanded angrily, refusing to be baited into giving her father's whereabouts to some random stranger.

"Who I am is not important, Ms. Drew" came the response from the other end. "What's important right now is that you don't know where your father is, but I do. If you ever want to see him alive again, go to the abandoned warehouse at the corner of 15th and 9th in Manhattan by 6 p.m. this evening. Your father will be there, as will I."

Nancy felt her hand shake slightly as the implication of what this man was saying hit her full force -- someone had her father! Before responding, however, she forced herself to calm down. She would not give the caller the satisfaction of knowing that he had rattled her. Instead, she asked calmly, "How do I know this isn't a trap?"

The man chuckled again. "You don't." With those words, he hung up.

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Nancy stared at the phone in her hand for a moment in shock, her mind whirling. This is not the time to panic, Drew, she told herself firmly. She dialed her father's office phone, holding her breath as the phone rang and rang. Finally, her father's assistant, Margaret, answered the phone.

"Carson Drew's office, how may I help you?" her friendly voice inquired.

"Margaret, it's Nancy. Could I please speak to my Dad?"

"I'm sorry, Nancy. He got a call about an hour ago and rushed out of here, saying he had something urgent come up."

Nancy's blood chilled at those words, but she forced herself not to overreact. Her father was well-known and highly respected, and many people contacted him for advice or help. It wasn't unusual for him to meet with people at last minute's notice.

"Did he happen to mention anything before he left, Margaret? Who he was meeting, or what it was about?"

"I'm sorry, honey, he didn't. The only thing I noticed was that he looked rather distraught about something, which isn't like him. But before I had a chance to ask him what was wrong, he was already out the door."

The fist around Nancy's heart tightened a little more after hearing that. Her father was a solid rock -- it took a lot for him to ever appear disturbed over anything.

"Thanks for your help, Margaret. I'll try him on his cell phone."

Nancy disconnected and called her father's cell phone next. It immediately went to voicemail.

Truly scared now, Nancy called home next. Their longtime housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, answered the phone on the second ring. Without bothering with even hello, Nancy asked immediately, "Hannah, is Dad there?"

Hannah heard the fear in Nancy's voice instantly. "No dear, he's not here. He hasn't been making it home until late in the evening these days, with the case that he's been working on lately. Now tell me what's wrong."

Nancy shook her head, even though Hannah couldn't see her. She didn't want to worry her until she knew more about what was going on. "It's nothing, Hannah. I just had a question for him, but it can wait. No need to worry."

Hannah's voice became exasperated. "Nancy Drew, I've known you since you were a little girl. If you think you can lie to me just because I'm not there to see you, you've got another think coming. Now tell me what's going on!"

Nancy sighed, deciding to give Hannah some of the truth, if not all, knowing that she would persist if Nancy continued to deny that anything was wrong. "I'm just worried about Dad, Hannah. I got an anonymous tip that he might be in danger, and I just wanted to try to track him down and warn him. I'm sure he's fine, and I'll feel better as soon as I can talk to him."

"I'll let him know to call you as soon as he comes home tonight. Meanwhile, you stay out of trouble, Nancy. And take care of yourself."

Nancy's throat tightened at the concern in Hannah's voice. She hung up without saying goodbye because she didn't quite trust her voice at that moment. Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she squared her shoulders and made her next phone call.

"Yes, I'd like to make a reservation on the next flight out to New York City."

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Her class forgotten, Nancy ran back towards her car as she finalized her plane reservations on her cell phone. Her apartment was about twenty minutes from campus, but Nancy made it in ten. She ran up the stairs and charged through the door, which Janna had left unlocked. Her roommate gave her a bewildered look as Nancy ran past her to her room.

"Nancy, what on earth is going on! I thought you were worried about being late to class, so what are you doing back home?"

Nancy, busy throwing clothes and toiletries into a backpack, didn't respond. Janna came into her room and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, noticing that Nancy was shaking slightly.

"Nancy, are you okay?" Janna asked with concern in her voice.

Nancy took a deep breath and stopped from her hasty packing to turn and look at her roommate. She put her hands on Janna's shoulders and held her gaze.

"Janna, I want you to listen to me very carefully. There's a chance that you might be in danger. Is there a friend that you can stay with for a while?"

Janna's eyes filled with confusion.

"What are you talking about, Nancy? Are you in some kind of trouble? And where are you going? Should we call the police?"

Nancy shook her head vehemently. "No cops, Janna! I'm not in trouble, but I think my father may be. I believe that someone may have kidnapped him, possibly to get at me. If that's the case, then whoever it is may know where I live, and may try to get to me here. I don't want to involve the cops because there's no telling what this person may do to my father if he knows that I called the police. The kidnapper told me to go to New York City, and I have to listen to him -- I can't risk my father's life. But I don't want you here alone while I'm gone. Please, don't argue, just trust me and get out of here for a few days."

Janna nodded slowly. "Alright, Nancy, I'll do that. But promise me you'll be careful. I know you're a detective and used to facing dangerous situations, but I don't like the thought of you taking this on alone. Bess told me about some of the scrapes you guys used to get into, but she or George or your friends the Hardys were almost always there with you. Are you sure you can't call one of them to help?"

Nancy was touched by Janna's concern, but shook her head at the suggestion. "There's no time, Janna. I have to be at the warehouse by 6:00 tonight, and as it is, my flight gets me in at 4:00. That's barely enough time to make it to the warehouse in Manhattan traffic. But I am going to ask you for one favor -- I need you to be my check-in contact."

Nancy grabbed a piece of paper from her desk and hastily scribbled an address on it. "This is where I'm going in New York. I'll plan on calling you tonight at 9:00 p.m. Eastern time. If you don't hear from me, go to the police and give them this address and tell them everything that I told you. I've also written down a phone number here -- it's the cell phone for Frank Hardy, one of the friends that you mentioned. He's an agent for the FBI now -- if something happens to me he'll know what to do. Call him as soon as you talk to the police."

With this, Nancy gave Janna a swift hug, grabbed her backpack, and ran out the door.

----------------------

Now, two hours later, Nancy was sitting on her flight with nothing to do but worry. She was relieved that she had at least convinced Janna to stay with a friend -- despite their differences, Nancy wouldn't want anything to happen to her. And as irresponsible as Janna could be, she knew that she would take her words seriously about going to the police and Frank Hardy if anything happened to Nancy.

Frank Hardy. It had been so long since she had seen him or talked to him. It was a sad testament to the twist and turns of her life that she rarely spoke to one of the few people in the world that she truly trusted with her life, without reservations. He and his brother, Joe Hardy, had joined Nancy on some of the craziest adventures of her life when they were all solving cases as amateur detectives. And although they had all merely been teenagers at the time, they had forged a bond of trust and respect that was unbreakable. But life had intervened, with the detectives putting their love of mysteries on the back-burner to pursue degrees and careers. Frank and Joe had gone on to become Special Agents with the FBI -- Frank specializing in computer forensics, and Joe specializing in just being Joe.

Nancy smiled slightly as she thought of her two friends. When they all first started college, they had kept their promise of staying in touch, getting together over the holidays or summer vacations for trips that invariably involved a mystery or two. But as the three friends became busy with their own lives and began having internships and other commitments during the summers, they lost touch.

And a large part of that was her fault, Nancy admitted to herself with an inward sigh. During her first year of college, Nancy and her then-boyfriend Ned Nickerson had gotten into one of their innumerable arguments about Frank Hardy. Even now, the memories of that awful fight were still vivid in her mind.

_"Ned, wait!" Nancy cried as she followed Ned out of the front door of the ski lodge._

_Ned whirled on her. "Why, Nancy? So I can stand around and watch you and Frank Hardy go on with each other as if you two are the only people that exist in this world? Thanks, but no thanks. I can think of better ways to spend my Christmas vacation than this."_

_Nancy grabbed his arm before he could turn away from her again. "Frank and I are friends, Ned. Just friends! You're the man that I love. Why can't you understand that?"_

_Ned glared down at her but didn't shake her arm off. "So you and Frank are just friends, huh? Then what was Frank talking about just now when he whispered something in your ear about remembering the last time you guys had been in a ski resort together?"_

_Nancy froze, unable to tear her eyes away from Ned's. "You heard that?" she whispered._

_"Yeah, Nancy, I heard. And from the look on your face, I can pretty much guess what he was talking about." He gave her a look of disgust, shook her arm off, and turned around to walk away._

_Despair gripped Nancy's heart, and she ran around him to block his path. "Ned, wait! I can explain!" _

_Ned gave her a dubious look, but stopped._

_"Ned, Frank is one of my best friends. I don't know how to explain it to you, except that we share a common bond with our love of mysteries. And one time, we mistook that bond to possibly mean something more. But it didn't, and we both realized our mistake. I told him that you were the love of my life, and he told me that Callie was his. And we agreed to remain friends. That's it!"_

_Ned didn't look entirely convinced, and Nancy guiltily tried to push what had happened with Frank in Egypt to the back of her mind. That wouldn't help her case now. Finally, Ned spoke._

_"Nancy, I can't take any more of this. I realize that mysteries are important to you, and I already share you enough with them. I can't share you with Frank Hardy, too."_

_Nancy took a deep breath. "What are you saying, Ned?"_

_"I'm saying that I want you to stay away from Frank Hardy. I know you may consider yourself just friends, and that you have the best intentions where the other is concerned, but you don't see yourselves when you're around each other. I do, and I can't watch it anymore. It's him or me, Nan."_

_Nancy stared at Ned in shock. "You can't be serious!"_

_"I am, Nancy. But I don't need an answer now. Think about it. You know where to find me when you're ready."_

_Ned walked off, and Nancy sank to the steps of the lodge, oblivious to the biting cold._

"Would you like something to drink, miss?"

The flight attendant jolted Nancy out of her reverie, and she straightened in her seat, shaking her head at the woman. Nancy glanced out the window at the blanket of clouds surrounding the plane. She closed her eyes and asked herself, not for the first time, if she had made the right choice that night. Looking back, Nancy didn't recognize the woman that had walked to Ned's room, knocked on the door, stepped into his arms, and told him that she picked him, that he was the only man that she loved. The Nancy Drew that she knew didn't respond to ultimatums, would have rebelled at the thought of someone forcing her to sacrifice a friendship that she treasured deeply. But she had done exactly that, because a small part of her had known that Ned was right.

And so she had slowly shut Frank out of her life. At first, she stopped responding to his phone calls, maintaining only sporadic contact via e-mail. From that, she knew that he and Joe had gone on into the FBI after college. If Frank had noticed that she was avoiding him, he never questioned her. His e-mails were always the same old Frank, full of affection for her and gentle teasing. But eventually, those had stopped as well. Now, it had been almost a year since she had last heard from him. She wondered how he would react if Janna did have to call him tonight. Would he care? Would he wonder why she would have her friend call him when she herself barely spoke to him anymore?

Nancy frowned and shook her doubts away. Of course he would care -- he was Frank. That was who he was, and that was one of the many reasons why she...

No, she wouldn't go there. Sighing, Nancy rested her head against the window and tried to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for the encouraging reviews! And a special thanks to msnancydrew, who generously volunteered her time to be my beta. I'll apologize in advance for the shortness of this chapter -- it just seemed like the right place to end it at the time. If it helps to know, I've already started on the next one.**

**Happy reading, and please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: In all my excitement of getting the first chapter out, I forgot the disclaimer. I don't own Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Bess, George, Ned, or any other characters from the books. All original characters and places are fictional, and any resemblance to persons/places living or dead is purely unintentional. This disclaimer applies to all chapters of this story, present and future.**

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Nancy was off the plane before most of the other passengers, having gotten a seat as close as possible to the front. She hurried through LaGuardia airport, oblivious to the throngs of people that surrounded her. She had one focus, and one focus only -- finding her father.

Dashing through the front doors of the airport, she hailed a cab that had just pulled up to the curb. She jumped into the back seat and gave the driver the address of the warehouse. As the cab pulled away from the curb, she caught the angry glares of the people waiting in the taxi line. She felt a tiny stab of guilt, but it was quickly replaced with the tension that had had her in its grip since she first got the call from her father's kidnapper hours ago. Although she still had no evidence that her father had truly been taken, a gut feeling told her that he was in danger. And Nancy had learned long ago to listen to her instincts. It had saved her life more times than she could count, and now she could only pray that she could do the same for her father.

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Nancy arrived at the warehouse half an hour before the designated time. Because of the winter season, night had already fallen, and Nancy used the darkness to her advantage as she stealthily approached the warehouse. She had asked the cab driver to drop her off a few blocks away, and she had used the walk to don a black sweatshirt and pull a black cap over her bright hair. It wasn't the perfect outfit for hiding in the dark, since she had never gotten a chance to change out of her blue jeans, but it would have to do. She had no idea what kind of situation she would be walking into at the warehouse, and she wanted the opportunity to survey the building and all possible entrances and exits beforehand without being detected. She didn't know how her father would be brought into the building, or if he was already there, but if she had the chance to overtake his captors with the element of surprise, she would be ready to act.

She slowly approached the rear entrance of the warehouse, her eyes scanning her surroundings to make sure that she was alone. Old empty cardboard boxes were scattered around the area, which appeared to once have been used as a loading dock. The back wall consisted of two large shutters that were about the width of trucks, both rusty with disuse. No way to enter quietly through those, Nancy thought to herself. Next to the shutters was a normal-sized door. The only lock on it appeared to be in the doorknob, and it seemed to be pretty standard fare. Hmm, that one has potential, Nancy thought with a small smile as she began to move quietly towards it. Packing her lock-picking kit was as natural as packing her toothbrush -- she never left home without it. She reached for her backpack to pull it out.

She never had the chance.

Just as her hand touched the zipper, a strong arm wrapped around her throat, effectively cutting off her air supply. A hand was clamped over her mouth, stopping the scream that had already started to build. She was shoved roughly against the wall of the building, her attacker pressing his knee into the small of her back to pin her in place. Nancy struggled frantically against her attacker, but it was no use -- he was too strong for her. As red dots began to swim in front of her eyes from the lack of oxygen, her only thought was that she wouldn't be able to get to her father in time.

----------------------------

With his knee holding her firmly in place, her attacker released the chokehold on her throat and yanked the cap off her head. Nancy's reddish-blond hair tumbled to her shoulders in waves, and at that moment, she felt her attacker's hold on her slacken. She shoved back from the wall with all her strength and whirled on her attacker, her fist already in mid-swing. At the last moment, however, she pulled it back and stared at the man in front of her in shock.

"Frank?" she whispered, her voice scratchy from the abuse that her throat had received.

His warm brown eyes, as familiar to her as her own, were filled with horror. "Oh my God, Nancy, are you okay? How badly did I hurt you?"

She rubbed her throat gingerly, but when she saw the guilt enter his eyes to war with the horror, she quickly pulled her hand away.

"I'm fine, Frank." To reassure him, she stepped forward to give him a hug. After a moment's hesitation, she felt his arms come up around her slowly. Then, without warning, they tightened as he pulled her even closer.

"Nancy, I'm so sorry. I thought…"

"Shh," Nancy soothed. She pressed her cheek against the warmth of his neck and closed her eyes, the tension that had plagued her since morning simply flowing out of her body. Like coming home, she thought to herself. Like coming home.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the second chapter -- I appreciate everyone's feedback and comments! And extra thanks to msnancydrew, my wonderful beta! I hope everyone enjoys this new chapter -- it's definitely longer than the last one. I'll try to update as regularly as possible, but with the holidays, I won't make any promises. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, and happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Nancy, Frank, or Joe, but can I add them to my Christmas list? (Oh, and all the legal mumbo-jumbo from the last chapter still applies)**

**----------------------------**

"Frank, are you okay? I thought I heard someone back here…"

Joe Hardy's hushed voice stopped mid-sentence. His brother was standing at the back of the warehouse with a woman enveloped tightly in his arms. The sight was so extraordinary that all Joe could do was stare. Frank, unflappable, all-business-all-the-time Frank, was with a woman instead of casing out the building like he was supposed to. Wasn't that what Joe normally did on the job?

Joe's blue eyes flashed with humor at the role reversal, and he started toward his brother. As he drew closer, however, he caught the glint of reddish-blond hair.

Nancy?

Desperately wanting to give them their privacy, but knowing that they didn't have the luxury of time, Joe cleared his throat. His brother and Nancy pulled apart abruptly, and Joe couldn't help but grin at the guilty looks on their faces. He closed the distance between them, and when he reached Nancy, he pulled her in for a hug of his own.

"Hey, Nan -- fancy running into you here."

Nancy returned his smile with one of her own, her blue eyes sparkling. "You've gotta admit, of all the strange places that we've run into each other, this one seems pretty normal in comparison."

As she said that, thoughts of her father and the reason that she was there came flooding back, and she sobered abruptly. Turning back to Frank, she asked, "Did Janna call you?"

Frank looked at her in confusion. "Who's Janna?"

Now it was Nancy's turn to be confused. "If Janna didn't call you, then why are you here?"

Frank and Joe exchanged a quick glance. "Joe and I both received phone calls this morning from an unknown caller telling us that he had our father, and that we were to meet him at this warehouse at 6:00 this evening if we ever wanted to see him alive again. Joe and I called around -- Dad's office, home, some of his friends -- but no one had seen him or heard from him all morning. So we caught the first available flight out from D.C. and came here."

Nancy's face paled as she heard Frank's story, so similar to her own. "Oh no, he's got both of them," she whispered, more to herself than to the brothers.

This time, Joe was the first to respond. "What do you mean by both of them, Nan?"

Nancy met his gaze levelly. "This morning, I received the same phone call -- an unknown caller telling me that he had my father, and that I was to come to this warehouse at the same designated time. Just like you, I called around trying to find my father, with pretty much the same results. So I came here. When Frank, um…found me, I was trying to find a way into the building undetected, so that I could have the element of surprise on my father's kidnapper. I never expected to run into the two of you here!"

Joe nodded and began to respond, but before he could, his brother cut him off.

"You're telling us that you came here, by yourself, to face a kidnapper. Alone!"

Hearing the note of censure in his voice, Nancy's eyes flashed dangerously, and her chin titled upward. "Don't you dare start lecturing me about going anywhere by myself, Frank Hardy, considering how much you used to do just that! My father's been kidnapped -- I wasn't about to sit around and wait. And you know damn well I can take care of myself!"

Frank grabbed her arms, shaking her slightly.

"I don't care how well you can take care of yourself! You know better than to go into a potentially dangerous situation without backup. Just now, I was able to sneak up on you without you even seeing me. And thank God it was me -- if it was one of the kidnappers, who knows what they would have done to you! Where's your common sense, Drew?"

"You know what, Frank? You can take your common sense and shove it up your…"

"Whoa!" Joe stepped in between the two of them, opting to face Nancy. He knew better than to turn his back on an angry woman, especially one who, from past experience, could take him down without even breaking a sweat.

"Cool it, you two! I don't know if this is your way of getting reacquainted, or a really twisted way of saying that you missed each other, but we don't have time for this. Right now, we need to get into that warehouse and go get our fathers. You two can either go a few rounds, or kiss and make up, later."

With that, Joe started walking towards the back door that Nancy had noticed earlier, without even sparing them a backward glance. Frank looked at Nancy, the earlier anger in his eyes now replaced with wry amusement.

"Mom won't admit it, but he was dropped on his head a lot as a child."

Nancy grinned at him, knowing that whatever had flared up between them had, for the moment, passed.

"That would explain a lot."

Frank grinned back at her, and for a moment, their eyes locked and held. Nancy was the first to break eye contact, turning to follow Joe, who was already working on picking the lock on the back door. She stopped midway and looked back at Frank over her shoulder.

"Wanna be my backup, Hardy?"

He smiled and started after her.

"Anytime, Drew."

----------------------------

"Got it!" Joe whispered excitedly.

"Took you almost three minutes. You're losing your touch," Nancy whispered back, with a grin.

Joe glared at her. "We've still got two minutes to spare till six, thank you very much."

Frank chuckled softly -- some things just never changed. "As many fond memories as watching the two of you bicker brings back, we should probably get going."

Joe nodded, and he and Frank flanked either side of the door. As Nancy watched in amazement, they both withdrew their service revolvers that had been tucked into their waistbands and held them in the standard officers' stance. Their movements were precise and methodical, and it struck Nancy that despite knowing about their careers in the FBI, she hadn't thought about this aspect of it. Seeing the guns in their hands was a cold splash of reality. This is the real thing, she thought to herself. We're not kids anymore.

Frank saw the expression on Nancy's face, and he gave her a reassuring smile. Seeing that, knowing that like always, he understood what she was thinking without any words, warmed her. Gun or no gun, this was Frank. She smiled back at him, determination replacing the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Let's go."

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They opened the door slowly, and fortunately, it didn't make any noise. Frank and Joe entered first, guns held at the ready. Nancy followed right behind, holding a small flashlight that illuminated the hallway they had entered. There were doorways on either side of the hall, presumably offices. Joe looked at Frank, then back at Nancy.

"Should we check out the offices?" he whispered.

Nancy shook her head at him and whispered back, "If I were the kidnapper, I wouldn't want to be found in an office with only one way out. My guess is he's going to be in the main floor of the warehouse, with multiple escape routes."

Frank and Joe nodded in agreement, and the three of them silently continued down the hall. At the end, the corridor turned off abruptly toward the right. As they stepped forward, they realized that they had ended up in the main part of the building, the area large and open. Nancy shone her flashlight upward and saw that the roof was at least three stories up. As she continued to follow the Hardys toward the center of the room, she frowned at what the tiny light of her flashlight revealed to her. She reached forward to tap Frank's shoulder, but as he started to turn towards her, the main lights of the room suddenly turned on.

Nancy blinked rapidly as her eyes tried to adjust to the brightness. As soon as she could focus, the sight that met her eyes made her freeze in her tracks. Her father and Fenton Hardy were on the floor against the wall in front of them, their hands and feet bound tightly and their mouths gagged. A trickle of blood ran down the side of Fenton's forehead to his cheek, and her father had a nasty bruise on his right cheekbone under his eye. Both men were conscious, but as Nancy looked more closely, she realized that their eyes were glazed over. Drugged, was her first thought, and as she looked over at Frank, she knew from the look in his eyes that he had reached the same conclusion.

But what had made Nancy stop cold wasn't just the sight of their fathers' condition, it was the two masked men that were pointing guns at each of their heads, aimed to kill. The look in their eyes was cold-blooded, ruthless, and Nancy knew instinctively that they wouldn't even blink when pulling the trigger.

The man on the left who had his gun trained on Carson turned to look at the three detectives, a maniacal gleam entering his eyes.

"Hello, kids! So glad you could join us!" Nancy recognized the voice of the man who had called her earlier that morning. The glee in his voice disturbed her. From her experience, she knew that crazy people were often a lot more unpredictable, and a lot more dangerous, than people who were simply evil.

"Now, now, no need for you to have guns. Just put them on the floor slowly, and kick them towards me. We're just here to have a friendly chat."

Frank and Joe exchanged a quick glance, and their hands tightened on their weapons.

"I have another idea. How about we shoot you and your pal over there, and then head on out of here and grab a few drinks with our fathers?" Joe's voice was flippant, but Nancy could see the hard gleam in his eyes.

The kidnapper who had spoken cocked his gun, and the sound echoed deafeningly through the room. The earlier glee was gone from his voice as he spoke, now replaced with an even more chilling calm.

"Do you really want Mr. Drew's life to depend on whether you can shoot faster than I can?"

Nancy's heart caught in her throat at those words, and she prayed, prayed that Joe wouldn't do anything rash as he was prone to in their teenage years. But Joe surprised her as he slowly laid his gun on the ground, and then kicked it away. Frank did the same. As they did, Nancy released the breath that she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

----------------------------

Frank heard Nancy's sigh of relief behind him, but he didn't dare turn to look at her. The man holding the gun on Carson was definitely unpredictable, and although the second kidnapper had yet to speak, Frank was certain that he was just as likely to shoot his father without a qualm. From the glance that he had exchanged with Joe, he knew that his brother's words to the kidnapper had been to gauge the seriousness of the threat to their fathers. Unfortunately, after seeing the man's reaction, they had had no choice but to put their weapons down. Now, unless one of them could come up with a plan, it seemed that they were at the kidnappers' mercy until they could figure out why the three of them were lured there and what the men wanted with their fathers. Fortunately, the first kidnapper didn't keep them in the dark for long.

"I'm glad that we've reached an understanding. Following instructions is going to be important to the little exercise that we have planned for you three -- the better you become at it, the longer your fathers will live."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Joe demanded angrily.

"Ah, the younger Hardy -- still the hot-headed one, I see. Although your question was put rather rudely, I'll still give you the benefit of an answer. You see, my friend and I," he nodded at the other kidnapper, "have heard great tales of your escapades as detectives. How you trample all over people's lives in your search for clues, all in the name of solving the mystery, but really for your unquenchable thirst for glory."

The kidnapper paused, drawing in an angry breath. "Oh yes, I've heard all about the great Hardy boys and the unstoppable Nancy Drew. But now it's time for the true test. Let's see how great detectives you are when the stakes of the mystery are your fathers' lives, when the lives that you trample over are your own."

"Why are you doing this?" Nancy's voice was controlled, but Frank could hear the undercurrent of horror in it.

"Why, you ask, Ms. Drew? Because you three have meddled in other people's lives long enough. Now it's time someone meddled in yours."

"You said that we would have to follow instructions. What are they, and what exactly is the exercise that you mentioned?" Frank asked calmly.

"Ah, the older Hardy finally speaks. Still the rational one, I see. Pity you didn't rub off more on your younger brother over there." Joe's eyes flashed, but he remained silent. The kidnapper noticed this and laughed. "Then again, maybe you did teach him some restraint. But, I digress. The exercise is rather simple. I have planted a series of clues that will ultimately lead you to your fathers. The first clue will be given to you here, which will lead you to the next, and so forth. If you manage to find all the clues, and follow them to the end, you will then find your fathers. Consider it a scavenger hunt of sorts." The kidnapper chuckled, amused at some private joke. "Of course, you will have to figure out how to stay alive first."

"What makes you think we're going to let you walk out of here in the first place?" Nancy demanded angrily. The kidnapper only chuckled again.

"I don't 'think', Ms. Drew. I know." With those words, he lowered the gun that he was holding and stepped over to a large object that was covered with a grimy drop cloth, obscuring it from view entirely.

Frank glanced at Joe, and he knew that his brother had noticed the same opportunity as he had when the kidnapper lowered his gun from Carson's head. Frank spoke up to distract the kidnapper as Joe slowly inched forward towards his gun.

"So what exactly is this clue that we're supposed to be getting?"

The kidnapper didn't even turn to look at Frank as he fiddled with something behind the large object.

"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Hardy, as I'm sure you've learned on your numerous cases. All will be revealed in due time. As for you, Joseph, I strongly recommend that you stop right where you are. My associate over there has a rather itchy trigger finger, and I'd hate for any sudden movements to cause him to accidentally pull the trigger and blow your father's brains out."

Joe froze in his tracks and turned to look back at his brother and Nancy. From the frustrated looks on both of their faces, he could tell that neither of them had any other solutions.

"Now, where were we? Ah yes, I was answering Ms. Drew's question. As I said, I know for a fact that we will be leaving this warehouse." As the kidnapper made this statement, he yanked the cloth off the object that it had been concealing. "And there isn't a thing you can do about it."

The three detectives gasped at the sight of the bomb that had been hidden under the cloth. As they stared at it, transfixed, the LED display counted down the time to the imminent explosion. Four seconds…

The kidnapper ran back towards the two hostages and the other kidnapper. The motion snapped Nancy out of her shock, and she yelled, "Dad!" She started towards her father, but before she could take a step, the bomb exploded and the world shattered around them.

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**A/N: My first cliffhanger! I know, it's mean, but I have to admit, it was kinda fun writing one!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's given me feedback on the previous chapters. I don't want to drive everyone crazy by sending constant replies filled with incessant gratitude, so I'll just say this: every single piece of feedback that I've gotten means a lot to me. It definitely helps to hear the encouragement, and I hope only to become a better writer for it.**

**Disclaimer: Frank, Joe, and Nancy aren't mine. Trust me, I would know it if they were. **

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"Get down!" Joe yelled as he dove to the ground. Frank turned and caught Nancy around the waist as she tried to run towards her father. He tackled her to the ground and covered her body with his, trying to shield her from the falling debris as much as possible. She struggled against him.

"Let me up, Frank! Our fathers were right by the bomb -- they need our help!" Nancy shouted.

Frank caught her wrists in his hands, trying to still her frantic movements. He pressed closer to her, speaking in her ear to be heard over the noise around them. "They're fine, Nan! I saw the kidnappers get them out through a trap door right before the bomb went off."

Nancy met his unwavering gaze. She nodded silently and stopped trying to fight him. Just then, something large and heavy hit Frank squarely in the back. He winced in pain, and Nancy, feeling the force of the hit through Frank's body, freed her wrists from his hands and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him even closer. She covered his head with her hands, trying to protect him as much as possible.

It seemed that the destruction went on forever, even though it really was only mere minutes. Finally, everything quieted, and the debris slowly stopped raining down on them. Frank turned his head to look over at his brother, who was still face-down on the ground with his hands over his head.

"Joe? Are you okay?"

Joe lifted his hands from his head and moved his legs slowly.

"Everything still seems to be attached, although I'm sure in a few hours I'm going to wish it wasn't. How about you guys?"

Frank looked down at Nancy, who had her eyes closed. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear, then stroked her cheek.

"Nan, are you okay?"

She opened her eyes slowly, their deep blue a stark contrast to her pale face. She nodded, "Thanks to you. I would have run straight towards the bomb if you hadn't stopped me."

Frank looked at her closely for a moment, as if to reassure himself that she really was okay, and then grinned at her and rolled off and up to his feet. "All part of being your backup, Drew." He helped her up, and the three walked over to where the bomb had once been. Now, all that was left was a crater in the floor and chunks of concrete missing from the wall. The force of the explosion had been strong enough to reach the roof, which accounted for the shower of debris that they had endured.

Joe walked over to the spot where Carson and Fenton had been held. He pointed to a small black button on the wall.

"This must be what they used to open the trap door. I saw the second kidnapper touch something on the wall, and then a panel in the floor opened up."

He pushed the button, but nothing happened. Frank crouched down and pushed chunks of concrete aside. As Joe pushed the button again, Frank heard a whirring noise in the ground, but the door still didn't move.

"It must have gotten damaged in the explosion." Frank pounded his fist against his thigh in frustration. "We can't even try to follow them!"

"Hey guys, check this out," Nancy pointed at the opposite wall, by the hallway where they had originally entered from. Both men turned to look in her direction. Frank rose slowly from the floor, and Joe let out a low whistle.

"Guess they left us our clue after all."

Nancy read the large words painted in a deep blood red aloud.

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_I rue the day that I ever gave birth_

_To the infamous Nancy Drew_

Nancy's voice trailed off as she finished reading the irreverent poem. For a moment, she just stood there, the meaning of the words slowly sinking in. Finally, she whispered, "He's talking about my mother."

Frank and Joe moved up to stand next to her, flanking either side of her in silent support. Frank laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"We're going to catch these bastards, Nancy. I promise you that."

Nancy took a deep breath. "I guess we're going to River Heights next. That's where her…that's where she was buried." She turned to give Frank a weak smile. "Well, at least we know one thing about these guys."

"What's that, Nan?" Joe queried.

"They may be decent criminals, but their poetry skills are sorely lacking," Nancy deadpanned.

Frank chuckled and Joe groaned. Just then, the sound of sirens arose in the distance. Frank looked at his brother and Nancy. "I don't know about you guys, but I really don't want to stick around and try to explain all of this to the police. And I definitely don't want to risk angering the kidnappers by getting the cops involved."

Nancy nodded. "I agree. I'm all about co-operating with law enforcement, but in this case, I think it'll only complicate things."

"Besides, we are law enforcement. Just a different kind, that's all," Joe chimed in.

Frank smiled at them. "Agreed, then. We're going to get our fathers back, and we're going to do it on our own. Now let's get out of here before we get busted!"

Frank and Joe ran back to the spot where they had dropped their guns and quickly retrieved their weapons from under the rubble. Nancy grabbed her backpack from the wall by the corridor entrance, where she had left it upon entering the room. The three then took off down the hallway and through the back door that they had originally entered from. As the police pulled up to the other side of the building, they slipped quietly into the night and melted into the shadows.

----------------------------

They ran through a series of alleys, winding through other warehouses that also appeared to be abandoned. Frank took the lead, and although the path they took seemed aimless, Nancy could tell that he knew exactly where he was going. She was proven correct when, minutes later, they ended up in front of a black sedan that was obviously a rental. Frank got into the driver's seat while Joe hopped in on the passenger's side, and Nancy slid into the back. She barely had her door closed when Frank pulled away from the curb.

They rode in silence while Frank manoeuvred the car through the alleyways, deliberately avoiding the warehouse they had come from and the cops now surrounding it. Remembering her promise to Janna, Nancy pulled out her cell phone to call her roommate. She assured her that everything was fine, and that she was okay. When Janna asked if she had found her father, Nancy hesitated briefly.

"We found him, Janna, but it's complicated. I'm probably going to be gone for a little while. Until then, can you continue to stay with your friend?"

Janna agreed, and after a few more moments of conversation, they hung up. Joe turned in his seat to give Nancy a curious look, and Frank glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

"You know, Nan, you never did tell us who Janna is," Joe remarked.

"She's my roommate at college. Before leaving, I gave her the address of the warehouse and Frank's contact information. I told her that if I didn't check in with her this evening, she should call the police and Frank and let them know what was going on. Of course, at the time, I had no idea that I would run into both of you tonight."

"So you didn't just run into a dangerous situation without any thought of backup," Joe said, with a pointed look at his brother, reminding him of his earlier argument with Nancy. Frank remained silent, sparing a second to glare at his younger brother. Nancy, not wanting to revisit the argument, quickly changed the subject.

"So what's our next move?"

"I think we should find a place where we can talk and gather our thoughts. Some place quiet and off the beaten path, preferably," Frank replied.

"I agree. There are a lot of things about tonight that don't add up. And I keep feeling like I'm missing something, like there's a memory that I just can't quite put my finger on," Nancy mused.

"I know what you mean. I've been getting that same feeling ever since we saw those two goons," Frank said.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. Could this place off the beaten path possibly happen to serve some nice juicy hamburgers?"

Nancy and Frank both laughed.

"Still can't think on an empty stomach, huh, Joe?" Nancy teased.

"No, no, Nancy, you've got it all wrong. I can think just fine on an empty stomach. I just happen to believe in the fine concept of multi-tasking."

Frank chuckled. "If you had it your way, Joe, you'd find a way to combine eating with all of your normal daily activities, and somehow manage to pass it off as multi-tasking. Too bad the assistant director has you banned from eating at your desk in the bullpen ever again."

"Spill some spaghetti on a man's casefiles once and you're blacklisted for life," Joe grumbled good-naturedly.

Frank and Nancy just laughed.

----------------------------

They found a small diner that was in a relatively quiet part of Manhattan, with parking available nearby, which was a rarity. There were only a handful of patrons in the restaurant, and the three detectives chose a booth in the far back, away from the other diners. Frank slid into the booth next to Nancy, while Joe sprawled in the bench across from them. When the waitress came to take their orders, she gave a small start at their appearance. Nancy knew they had to look pretty bad -- Frank and Joe were both covered in dust from head to toe, and she could see the bruises that were already starting to form on her arms from the impact of the debris in the explosion. Fortunately, the waitress left with their orders without asking any questions, and the three detectives breathed collective sighs of relief.

"Where should we begin?" Joe queried.

"How about this morning?" Nancy suggested. "I'll go first. Here's what we know: all three of us got phone calls approximately between ten and ten-thirty Central time this morning, telling us that our fathers had been kidnapped and directing us to a specific location in Manhattan. We know that they had both gone in to work in the morning, based on the calls that we made to their offices."

Frank and Joe nodded in agreement with this assessment, and Nancy continued.

"That means that they had to have been taken between the time that they got to work and 10 a.m., or 11:00 in your father's case. When I spoke with my father's secretary, she said that he had gotten a call an hour earlier that had caused him to leave his office in a hurry. At this point, I've got to assume that the phone call had come from one of the kidnappers to lure him into a trap."

"Dad's secretary gave us pretty much the same information. She said that he had gotten a phone call that had caused him to rush out of the office, without saying anything to anyone about where he was going," Joe added.

"Which means that both of the men in the warehouse had to have kidnapped our fathers almost simultaneously for the timeframe to work," Frank said, picking up Nancy's train of thought.

"Exactly," she agreed. "And the one who grabbed my father had to make it from River Heights to New York within a matter of hours. Which means that he couldn't have travelled by car -- it's about a twelve hour drive."

"Travelling by train would be equally slow, which means he had to travel by air. There's no way he could have gotten your father on a commercial airliner without being noticed by security, which means…"

"That he must have chartered a private jet!" Nancy finished Frank's sentence excitedly.

Joe stared at both of them. "You know, it's really creepy when you two do that. It's almost like you share the same brain or something." He shook his head in mock disgust, then grinned. "But, it is a brilliant thought. We can take a look at the records for all chartered flights that took off from any airports near River Heights, and see if any names stand out to us, or if anyone remembers seeing someone matching Mr. Drew's description."

Just then, the waitress arrived with their food. Joe looked at the hamburger that had been placed in front of him almost reverently, before digging in with a gusto that made Nancy and Frank laugh.

"You know, Joe, what's really creepy is the look of lust that enters your eyes at the mere sight of a burger and fries," Nancy teased.

Joe glared at her without bothering with a response, which would have been difficult considering that his mouth was full at the moment. Frank just shook his head at his brother before he continued.

"I have a friend in the forensics department at the FBI who does some hacking in his spare time. I'll give him a call after we leave and ask him to look up the flight records. It may take him some time, but he's really good. If anybody can get to them, he can."

Nancy glanced at him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't the Bureau frown upon unauthorized computer hacking? Are you sure your friend would be willing to get this information, especially considering the heightened security around anything concerning airports and flights these days?"

"He's pretty much up for anything. His philosophy is, the harder to hack into, the better. And he's a good friend. Once I explain the situation to him, I'm sure he'll be willing to help. Besides, he owes us one. When Joe and I first started with the Bureau, he ran into some trouble with the law, and was basically accused of doing something that he didn't do. He had heard about our reputation as amateur detectives, and he asked us to help clear his name. He had been suspended from active duty at the time, and we were in direct violation of Bureau policy for helping him. But we did, under our director's radar, and we managed to clear his name. So no, I don't think he'll have an issue with doing something without the Bureau's knowledge."

Nancy laughed. "What is that saying about the old rule book?"

Joe gave her a deliberately blank look. "Rules? What rules?"

That made Nancy snicker, and Frank just shook his head resignedly. "Let's just hope that you don't say that to the director when your annual review rolls around, Joe."

Joe began to retort, but Nancy cut him off.

"I definitely want to catch up on all of your escapades at the Bureau, but right now, I think we need to finish going back over everything that happened tonight and plan our next move. We know that we need to look at the chartered flight records, which Frank is going to take care of. That leaves us with the events after we all arrived at the warehouse, and what we saw there. One thing that I noticed right before the kidnappers turned the lights on was that everywhere that I shone my flashlight appeared to be unnaturally clean. There was no dust on any of the surfaces, and the floor appeared to have been swept."

Frank nodded. "I noticed that too. It definitely looked like it had been occupied recently."

"The kidnappers must have been using it for a while. That trapdoor that they escaped through was mechanical -- they had to have invested some time and money in installing it," Joe added.

"Which means that this is something that the kidnappers have been planning for a while," Nancy concluded. "But who would hate us, or our fathers, enough to go through all this trouble?" She tried to hide it, but there was a hint of desperation in her voice.

Frank covered the hand that she had balled into a fist on the table with his own. "I don't know, Nan. Between the three of us, and our fathers, I'm sure we've made plenty of enemies over the years. And all it takes is one, or in this case two, crazy people to do something like this."

Nancy's fist tightened even more, and he squeezed it gently. "But they underestimate us. They think that they're just going to lead us on a wild-goose chase with their clues, but we're going to do everything we can to get one step ahead of them, starting with the leads that we have about the flights, and now about the ownership of the warehouse."

Joe gave Nancy a reassuring smile. "Frank's right, Nancy. They think they know all about the Hardy brothers and the 'infamous' Nancy Drew, but once we're done, they'll have no idea what hit them. And we'll get our fathers back, safe and sound."

Nancy returned Joe's smile and covered Frank's hand with her other one. She turned to Frank as she spoke. "If there's one positive thing about all of this, it's that I get to work with the two of you again. I've missed that, more than I realized until this moment."

The look in Frank's eyes was intense, and for a moment, Joe, the diner, everything faded away. Just as he was about to respond, however, the waitress arrived at their table with the check. Joe cleared his throat, and Frank moved his hand away from Nancy's to reach for his wallet. "I'll get this one," he said gruffly.

Joe looked from his brother to Nancy, taken aback by the undercurrent of emotion that had sprung up between them. He had always sensed the chemistry they had together, but just now, there had been something…more. He considered saying something to lighten the mood, but decided against it. It didn't seem like something that he should joke about. Finally, Nancy spoke.

"Should we try to find a hotel? It's too late for us to try to make it on a flight to Chicago tonight."

Frank glanced at her, and then his brother. "Actually, I was thinking that we could drive up to Bayport tonight. Mom's probably out of her mind with worry about Dad right now, and I think having us there would reassure her more. It's only a three hour drive, and Joe and I have a friend who owns a charter plane who can fly us out to River Heights from the local airport first thing in the morning."

Nancy and Joe nodded their agreement, and the three detectives got up and walked out of the diner into the brisk night air.

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A/N: No cliffhanger this time! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter -- I had a bad case of writer's block and struggled with it quite a bit. I'm still not entirely sure I like it, but I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I wasn't that comfortable with the chapter when I posted it, but hearing everyone's feedback made me feel so much better about it. And a special thanks to msnancydrew, my absolutely awesome beta, for always replying quickly despite the holidays, and dealing with my neuroticism on the last chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this chapter. They belong to themselves, the wonderful authors that originally created them, and the publishing company that now owns them.**

**----------------------------**

Frank drove in silence, Nancy sitting next to him in the passenger seat. Joe had opted for the back, and was now stretched out on the seat, snoring softly. As soon as they had left the diner, Frank had called his friend at the Bureau and made his request for information on the flight records. He had been sparse on the details, and his friend had been wise enough not to press for more, instead promising to let them know as soon as he found something. He had also called his friend in Bayport and made arrangements with him to fly them out to River Heights at seven the next morning.

Nancy looked out of her window at the passing darkened landscape. They had left the city and its glittering lights behind over an hour ago and were now driving through a densely forested area. She turned to glance at Frank and found her gaze riveted to his profile. Only the occasional headlights from passing vehicles shone light on his face, but to her, he looked even more handsome in the shadows. His face was as familiar to her as her own, yet it never failed to cause her pulse to quicken. He had a strong, lean face, with warm, serious brown eyes that sometimes seemed to look into her very soul. And when they lit up with laughter, she could feel an answering happiness spread inside of her. Especially at the sight of his wonderful smile that usually accompanied it. And his mouth…

"Penny for your thoughts, Nan," Frank said softly.

Nancy blushed furiously and quickly jerked her head back to stare blindly at the passing trees. No way was she going to tell him what she had just been thinking -- not for a million dollars, much less a penny! Instead, she tipped her head in the direction of Joe's prone form and said in a low voice, "I was just thinking about how amazing it is that he can fall asleep almost anywhere, no matter what's going on."

Frank chuckled. "Yeah, I always admired that about him, and envied it at the same time. Whenever we went on road trips when we were little, he always fell asleep almost as soon as we hit the road, while I was left to pretty much entertain myself. So of course, by the time we arrived at wherever we were going, Mom, Dad, and I were always tired, while Joe was ready to hit the ground running -- literally."

"Did you guys take a lot of family trips together when you were young?" Nancy tried to hide the wistfulness from her voice, but didn't quite manage it.

"We did, especially before Joe and I entered high school. I used to love that, just getting in the car and driving somewhere. Sometimes, we wouldn't even know where we were going until we got there. Dad called it exploring the hidden treasures of our own backyard of this great country."

His voice trailed off as he thought of his father, now at the mercy of faceless kidnappers. Nancy looked at him, fear and doubt clouding her eyes. "Frank…earlier when you said that we were going to get our fathers back…do you truly believe that?"

Frank's stomach tightened as he forced himself to think about what he had tried to avoid all evening. His eyes left the road briefly to meet hers. "Honestly, Nan?" She nodded. "I don't know what I believe anymore. Before, it used to feel like the three of us were unstoppable. That we could solve any case if we just put our minds to it. But ever since joining the FBI, I've seen so much…wrong. And there are days when I question if good will always prevail over evil, if justice will always be served. So, to answer your question, I want to believe that we'll get our fathers back safe and sound, but I don't know how much faith I truly have in that."

Frank's words, the brutal honesty of them, pierced Nancy's heart. If Frank, the eternal optimist, had doubts, how could she hope to keep her own faith? In her mind, she kept seeing Fenton and Carson as they were in the warehouse, bound and gagged, beaten and bruised, and under a haze of drugs. It had hurt, almost more than she could bear, to see her strong, distinguished father reduced to such a state. If anything happened to him…

Frank's steady voice interrupted her despairing thoughts.

"But I can tell you what I do believe, Nan. I believe that both of our fathers are strong, intelligent men. I believe that they've been able to handle themselves in difficult situations before, and they can do so again. And I believe in us. You and me and Joe. If anybody can get them back, we can."

Nancy gave him a grateful smile. "I'm going to hold onto that thought."

Frank smiled back. "Good. On a happier note, how are Bess and George doing?"

"Having the time of their lives doing what they love. Bess is a fashion consultant for a major department store and gets to attend fashion shows all over the world. George is interning in the physical therapy department of a large hospital in Chicago. She hopes to open up her own practice one day."

"And how about you, Nan? Are you doing what you love?"

Nancy's head whipped around to look at him in surprise. Her mouth opened to respond with the standard, well-programmed assurance, then shut again. He had been honest with her moments before, and he deserved the same from her.

"Honestly, Frank? I'm not so sure I know _what_ I'm doing anymore."

He waited for her to elaborate, but when she remained silent, he decided not to press further. He knew that she would talk to him when she was ready. Instead, despite himself, he asked, "How's Ned doing?"

Nancy sighed. The honesty, it seemed, would have to continue. "He and I broke up about a year ago. We haven't exactly stayed in touch."

Frank gave her a sharp glance, then turned his attention back to the road. His hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel.

"You…in your e-mails…you never…"

"I'm sorry, Frank. I should have told you."

Frank didn't respond as he stared resolutely at the road before him. After a moment's silence, Nancy turned to continue her sightless vigil out of her window. She knew that she had hurt Frank, and hated herself for it. When he and Callie had separated, he had mentioned it in an e-mail that he sent her. No details, just that they had decided to end their relationship, and that it was a mutual decision. But there had been an unspoken question in the message, which Nancy had deliberately ignored. She had still been with Ned at the time, and desperately trying to repair a relationship that was falling apart at the seams. When it had all finally unravelled, she hadn't told Frank about it. How could she explain something that she still didn't understand herself? Her thoughts drifted back to that bright, sunny Sunday afternoon a year ago, when the world around her seemed perfect, yet her own was coming crashing down around her ears.

_"Nancy, we have to talk."_

_Nancy had been sitting on the steps of the deck in her backyard in River Heights, staring out at the lake that her house bordered, when Ned walked up and sat down next to her. She didn't turn to look at him. She just wrapped her arms around her knees tightly. _

_"This isn't working, Nancy. You know it, even if you haven't admitted it to yourself yet. We both want different things, and we can't give each other what we need anymore."_

_Nancy turned to look at him then, frustration darkening her eyes. "What is it that you need, Ned, that I can't give you? I love you. Isn't that enough?"_

_Ned smiled at her sadly, reaching out to stroke a finger down a cheek that had gone pale. "I wish it were, Nancy. But I'm selfish. I want the whole package -- the white picket fence, the minivan in the driveway, the 2.5 kids playing in the front yard."_

_Nancy grasped his hand where it still rested against her cheek. "I want that too, Ned! And I want that with you."_

_He shook his head, removing his hand from hers. "For how long, Nancy? How long before a case comes along, and you put your life in danger once again? How long before you begin to resent me, or your family, for holding you back? Or worse, what if we can't hold you back?"_

_"Ned, I can…I don't have to…" Nancy choked on the words that seemed stuck in her throat._

_"Nancy, you can't even get the words out to say that you'll give it up. Solving mysteries is as necessary to you as breathing. I know that -- I've always known it. And I thought I could live with it, but I can't. I'm sorry."_

_A suspicion began to form in Nancy's mind. "Ned, if this is about Frank Hardy in any way…"_

_He cut her off before she could continue. "It's not, Nan. Or maybe it is, in a roundabout way. He shares your passion, your love of investigating, in a way that I never could, and I've always resented that. Whenever I saw the two of you together, solving a case, it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist around you, including me. I know he means a lot to you, and sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by asking you to sacrifice that friendship for me. But like I said, I'm selfish. I thought that if you and Frank saw less of each other, you and I could find that connection that you and he always seemed to have. But it's not there, Nan. It hasn't been there for a long time now, but neither one of us has wanted to admit it."_

_Nancy opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off again. "I love you, Nancy, and I want you to be with someone who can share your dreams with you. And as much as it hurts for me to say this, that person's not me anymore."_

_The truth of his words rang in Nancy's heart, even as it broke into a million pieces. "Ned…" Nancy trailed off as he got to his feet to stand in front of her. He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her face up to his._

_"You're an incredible woman, Nancy Drew, and an amazing detective. You've solved so many mysteries, but you still have to solve the one of your own heart."_

_He bent down and kissed the top of her head, then turned around and walked away from her for the last time. Nancy stayed where she was for a long time after, silent tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks._

----------------------------

Joe awoke as he felt the car slow, then come to a complete stop. He rubbed a fist across his gritty eyes and stared at the car's ceiling as his body registered a thousand aches and pains from the earlier beating that it took in the explosion.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

"We're home," Frank replied quietly. Beside him, Nancy stirred and slowly awoke from the fitful sleep that she had fallen into. He saw her wince in pain when she moved her stiffened neck, but he didn't say anything. They hadn't spoken since their earlier conversation, and he still didn't know what to say to her. Frank sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. There would be time enough for that later. Right now he had a worried mother to comfort and a kidnapped father to find.

He got out of the car, and Joe and Nancy followed suit. They each grabbed their bags from the trunk and headed for the front door, Frank using his old key to let them in. The first thing that his tired mind registered was the comforting scent of his mother's banana nut bread, freshly baked from the oven. He followed the scent down the hallway towards the kitchen, Joe and Nancy trailing behind. When he stepped into the room, he saw his mother bent over the oven, gingerly removing a fresh loaf of bread. There were four more loaves already cooling on the center island.

"Mom."

Laura Hardy jumped at the sound of Frank's quiet voice, dropping the loaf of bread back into the oven. She spun around and pressed a hand to her racing heart.

"Frank! You scared me! When did you get here? And what are you doing here? Why didn't you call first so that I'd know you were coming? And what happened to you? Your clothes are covered with dust, and your faces are filthy. Nancy, dear, it's so good to see you. I'm so sorry the kitchen's such a mess. I just wanted to bake some bread. Fenton loves banana nut bread, and I thought…"

Frank silently stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his mother tightly. Her nervous words died in her throat as she was pressed against his comforting strength, and tears filled her eyes. She hugged her son back, the fears that she had tried so hard to keep at bay now clawing at her throat. She valiantly fought them back, using a reserve of strength that only the wife of an ex-cop and the mother of adventurous detectives could know.

Frank placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, making her smile a little. Her beautiful, strong son. When she stepped back from his arms, her eyes were dry, her gaze steady. "Just tell me this -- is he alive?"

Frank nodded. "He is, Mom."

"Then that's all I need to know right now. You can fill me in on everything else later. Right now, I think I need to feed your younger brother -- I can see visions of bread dancing in his eyes."

"Mom," Joe groaned. He stepped forward and enveloped her in a bear hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. He placed a loud smacking kiss on her forehead. "You know I'm not here for the food."

"I know." She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, then winked at him. "But that doesn't mean you're not going to eat it anyway!"

Everyone laughed, and some of the tension in the room dissolved. Laura walked over to Nancy, who was standing behind both of the brothers with a somewhat hesitant expression on her face. Noticing this, and ignoring it, Laura wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tightly. After a moment's hesitation, Nancy returned the embrace.

"It's so good to see you again, Nancy. It's been far too long since we last saw each other. I just wish it were under better circumstances. Did Frank and Joe call you when they found out that Fenton was missing?"

Nancy shook her head. "No, Mrs. Hardy. My father was kidnapped by the same men that took your husband. I ran into Frank and Joe at the warehouse in New York that we were directed to by the kidnappers."

"Oh my God," Laura whispered in horror. She took Nancy's hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. She looked at her sons, then back at Nancy. "On second thought, I think you'd better tell me everything now."

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By the time the three detectives had finished relating the entire story to Laura, it was almost two o'clock in the morning. Joe stood up from the sofa and stretched, yawning loudly.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat. I'm going to turn in for the night."

Frank rose too. "I'm right behind you, little brother. We have to get an early start in the morning." He looked down at Nancy, who was still sitting on the loveseat next to his mother. Laura caught the look on her son's face and said quickly, "Nancy, why don't you give me a hand clearing up these dishes, and then I'll show you up to the guest room?"

Nancy nodded gratefully and rose to help Laura clean up while the boys headed upstairs. She and Frank had yet to speak two words directly to each other, and there was definitely still tension between them. It would have been awkward to have him show her to her bedroom and play the role of the gracious host.

Once all of the dishes were stored in the dishwasher, Laura and Nancy went up the stairs and to the guest room. Laura pointed out the guest bathroom and her own room on the way. At the door of the guest room, she gestured Nancy inside.

"Go ahead and get settled in. I'll be back in a minute."

Nancy entered the room, taking in its charming furnishings. It was small, but homey, with a canopied queen bed in the center of the room and a cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. There was a window seat in the bay window, and a small dresser and mirror across from the bed that held an assortment of colorful glass bottles. She sank to the side of the bed, her body throbbing with pain from their earlier experience at the warehouse. She turned as she heard Laura enter the room, a stack of neatly folded clothes in her hands. Laura handed the clothes to Nancy, then sat down on the bed next to her.

"I thought you might need some fresh clothes to sleep in, and some for tomorrow. We're roughly about the same size, so I think these should fit."

Nancy smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Hardy."

Laura's blue eyes, so similar to Joe's, twinkled. "Laura, dear. 'Mrs. Hardy' reminds me of my mother-in-law, the thought of whom is more than I can handle at two o'clock in the morning."

Nancy laughed. "Laura it is, then."

Laura's expression sobered as she took one of Nancy's hands in hers and held her gaze.

"Your father's going to be fine, Nancy. I know in my heart that you and my boys will be able to bring him and Fenton back."

Tears sprung to Nancy's eyes before she could stop them. She tried to avert her face, but Laura gently cupped her chin in her hand and held her in place. "Nancy, I know this is hard. But I want you to know that you're not alone in this. You have me, and Frank and Joe. They both care about you very much, and even though the three of you may have drifted apart, I know that they would do anything for you. Especially Frank."

The pain in Nancy's eyes turned to surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Laura laughed at the expression on her face and patted her cheek gently.

"I know both of my boys well, Nancy, despite them running around all over the world for almost half of their lives. Joe wears his heart on his sleeve, while Frank tends to keep his feelings to himself. But you know what they say about still waters -- they run deep. And his feelings for you run very deep. I see the way he looks at you when you walk into a room, and the way he looks when you walk out. He's looked at you that way since you were both teenagers, and it's only grown stronger with time."

"Mrs. Hardy…Laura…I don't know what to say," Nancy stammered.

Laura squeezed her hand. "You don't have to say anything, Nancy. I'm not telling you this because I expect something from you. I learned long ago not to meddle in my sons' love lives, particularly because with Joe, I would be exhausted by now. I only say this because I want you to know that Frank cares about you very much, and I know he's going to be there for you through all of this."

Nancy let out the breath that she had been holding. "I'm going to be there for him too. He and Joe aren't in this alone, either. We've helped each other get through tough situations before and I know we'll do it again. And…I care about Frank too, very much."

Nancy shook her head at Laura as she tried to interrupt. "No, let me say this. I've made some mistakes where Frank is concerned, and I think I hurt him without ever meaning to. But I'm hoping I can fix that."

Laura smiled at her. "I have no doubt that when you put your mind to something, Nancy, nothing can stop you. My son won't know what hit him."

Nancy laughed. "I'm kind of hoping that's the case."

Laura stood up and faced Nancy. "I'm glad I got to see you again, Nancy, despite the circumstances. I loved you as a teenager before, but now I'm proud to say that I can also respect the woman that you've become."

Nancy's throat tightened painfully. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around Laura's waist and rested her head against her stomach. Laura stroked her hair gently.

"Be safe, Nancy." She placed a soft kiss on the top of Nancy's head, then turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

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A/N: I know there was no action at all in this chapter, but I really wanted to take some time to explore the characters further before I move on with the story. I promise there will be more action in the next one! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Happy new year, everyone! I apologize for the delay in writing this chapter -- as joyful as the holidays were, they also included a long separation from my computer and many busy days spent with my family. But life is back to normal now, thankfully. And speaking of thanks -- much, much thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta, msnancydrew. Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: Well, I put these amazing characters on my Christmas wish list, but Santa must have misplaced my list. So, they still belong to the people and publishing company who own them. Oh well, there's always next year!**

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Nancy stared at the clock on the nightstand desolately. It was 2:30 in the morning, and she was no closer to falling asleep than she had been when she crawled into bed nearly an hour ago. Although her conversation with Laura had helped, the events of the day were still running around in circles in her head. It was hard to believe that she had begun the day worrying about being late to class. Now, she had so much more to worry about.

Sighing, she slipped the covers off and got up. Maybe a glass of milk might help, she thought. Walking quietly, not wanting to wake anyone up, she made her way down the stairs. Moonlight filtering through the windows illuminated her path as she headed towards the kitchen. Once inside, she flipped on the lights. And screamed.

Nancy attempted to stifle the scream, instead gasping, "Frank! You scared me half to death!"

"Likewise, Nan." Although he had managed to remain outwardly calm, his heart was racing. They stared at each other in silence, shock slowly turning into awkwardness. Finally, Frank sighed and ran his hand through his brown hair, sending it into further disarray.

"Look, Nan…"

"Frank, I…"

They both stopped and looked at each other. Frank gestured for her to go ahead. Nancy struggled to find words for a moment, then shrugged helplessly.

"I couldn't sleep."

Frank laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. "Join the club." Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and his hair was tousled from repeatedly running his hands through it. He was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, and his broad shoulders were slumped forward with exhaustion. An urge to comfort, to soothe, surged in Nancy. Fighting it back, she walked to a cabinet instead and reached for a glass. She kept her back to Frank as she spoke.

"I thought milk might help me sleep. Do you want some?"

"Nancy, I'm sorry."

She spun around, milk forgotten, at the abrupt change in conversation. For a moment, she was tempted to feign ignorance, to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. Then she gave herself a mental shake. She didn't walk away from her problems, or her responsibilities. Or friendships that were important to her. She stepped forward to face Frank on the other side of the island and laid her hand atop his on the counter. She met his gaze steadily.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing, Frank."

"No, Nan. I froze you out earlier. I shouldn't have reacted the way that I did. It's none of my business…"

She cut him off. "I should have told you about Ned a long time ago." She sighed. "I just didn't know how."

"You're not obligated to keep me updated on your love life, Nancy. After all, we're only…"

The look in Nancy's eyes was eloquent as Frank paused, at a loss for words.

"There never really was a word to describe our relationship, was there, Frank," she asked softly.

Frank looked up and met her eyes.

"No, there wasn't," he replied quietly.

Nancy held her breath at the intense look in Frank's eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and as if pulled forward by an invisible force, she slowly leaned towards him. As she neared, she felt his breath brush her lips lightly.

Just then, the grandfather clock in the living room chimed to announce the hour.

Frank and Nancy both pulled back, the whisper of breath on Nancy's lips now just a memory. She pressed her fingers there instead, then let out a quiet sigh.

"Why can't we ever get our timing right?"

Frank lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the fingers that had touched her mouth just seconds before.

"We will, Nan. Once this case is over and we have our fathers back safe and sound, you and I are going to talk. I'm not letting you out of my life again. Not without a fight."

"I'm not going anywhere, Frank," she said quietly.

His eyes darkened, and Nancy felt herself blush at the look that entered his eyes. Desire. It shivered along her nerve endings. "Except to bed," she finished quickly.

Frank laughed huskily. "I would call you out on that, except that we really do have to be up in three hours."

Nancy groaned playfully. "Don't remind me." She gave his hand a final squeeze. "Good night, Frank."

"Good night, Nan."

As she walked out of the kitchen, Frank called out, "Hey, Nan?"

She turned. "Yes?"

"What about your milk?"

"I don't think I'm going to have any trouble sleeping now." With a small smile, she left the kitchen and headed upstairs to bed.

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At 6 a.m. the next morning, the three detectives stood in the living room of the Hardy home. They could hear Laura in the kitchen, tidying up the remnants of the breakfast that she had cooked for them. She had shooed them out after the meal, insisting that they get their things ready to leave while she cleaned up. In reality, she had just needed a moment to herself before she had to bid her sons goodbye. What did she say to them? Bring your father home, no matter what it takes? What if what it took was one of their lives? Or both? How could she ever face that?

Laura squared her shoulders resolutely and shook the thoughts away. Her sons and her husband would make it home safe. They always did. And she prayed they always would. She headed into the living room, just in time to see Joe yawn loudly.

"Don't worry, Joe. I'm sure you'll manage to catch up on your sleep on the plane. You always did have a knack for falling asleep anywhere."

The three detectives turned at the sound of her teasing voice, and Joe grinned at her. But he saw the worry in her eyes, and he tried to chase it away with humor.

"I'm a growing boy, Mom. I need my beauty sleep."

Everyone laughed, and Laura's face lightened. "That's why I packed you some snacks. Just be sure to share some with Frank and Nancy." She handed him the brown paper bag that she was carrying. Joe took it, then wrapped his arms around her and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"I love you, Mom."

The teasing note had left his voice, and Laura felt tears gather in her eyes. She cleared her throat and pulled away quickly. "You three should be getting on your way. You don't want to be late to the airport."

Ignoring her words for the moment, Frank stepped forward to give her a hug of his own. Wanting to see her smile again, he said, "You know better than to give Joe food and ask him to share. What were you thinking?"

She gave a watery laugh and squeezed him tightly. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Have faith in us, Mom."

"Always," she whispered back.

Tears threatened again as he stepped away. Nancy moved towards her and grasped Laura's hands tightly in hers. "We're going to bring them home, Laura."

Nancy's grip was firm and her eyes steady. Laura drew strength from her unwavering gaze, and she nodded. "I know you will." She gave another teary laugh. "Look at me. I should be the one reassuring you."

"You did. Last night. Now it's our turn."

Nancy leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then released her hands. "We should get going."

Laura nodded silently as the three detectives lifted the duffel bags that they had packed. Nancy had traded in her backpack for a borrowed bag from the Hardys that morning so that she could fit the clothes that Laura had loaned her. The four of them headed for the front door, and Laura stood in the open doorway as the detectives loaded their bags into the trunk and got in the rental car. Nancy and Joe waved as Frank reversed the car out of the driveway. Laura lifted her hand in farewell and whispered, "Please be careful."

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Nearly four hours later, the three detectives descended the steps of the little plane onto the tarmac of River Heights' small domestic airport. The flight had been relatively smooth, and true to his mother's words, Joe had fallen asleep before take-off. Frank and Nancy had dozed intermittently, but when they were awake, they had been relatively quiet. Neither had mentioned their conversation from the night before, silently abiding to their agreement to wait to talk until after they had gotten their fathers back.

Now, the three adults made their way to the lone car agency booth at the airport. They were given a new black Ford Explorer, the sun glinting off its shiny surface in the agency's parking lot. After they had tossed their duffel bags into the back, Frank offered the keys to Nancy.

"Do you want to drive, Nan? We're in your hometown now."

She shook her head. "You go ahead. I'll navigate."

Frank gave her a questioning look, but went ahead and climbed into the driver's seat while Joe got in the back. After a moment, Nancy climbed into the passenger's seat. She didn't mind driving, enjoyed it, in fact. But her palms had become sweaty as she had begun to focus on their destination.

Frank followed the signs to exit the airport, and with Nancy's instruction, turned onto the appropriate highway. Silence followed in the vehicle for several minutes afterwards as he navigated the winding road. Even Joe was unusually quiet. Sparing a second to glance over at Nancy, Frank saw that her jaw was taut and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. He took his right hand off the steering wheel to wrap it around one of hers. He didn't say anything, and after a moment, Nancy unclenched her fist to entwine her fingers with his.

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Twenty-five minutes later, they arrived at River Heights' old cemetery. A newer one had been created on the other side of town, a necessary addition as the town's population had grown. But Nancy's mother had been buried here, with the earlier generations of her family. Nancy stood now next to their car, gazing through the ornate gateway at the expanse of green and the rows of tombstones beyond. Frank and Joe came up silently next to her.

"It's been a while since I've been here. Amazing how the world can change, but cemeteries always seem to stay the same."

Joe squeezed her arm in silent support while Frank moved in front of her to gently cup her chin in his hand.

"Ready to go in?" he asked quietly.

She met his eyes, and the unspoken fear that she had been fighting back since the day before surfaced.

"Frank, what if…what if they've desecrated her grave in any way? I don't know if I could handle that."

He gave her a sympathetic look, but his voice was firm. "You won't know that until you go in, Nan."

She sighed, then straightened her shoulders. "You're right. Let's go."

She led the way through the gate, Frank and Joe trailing a few steps behind. She made her way through the gravesites, finally coming to a stop next to a gray granite headstone that simply read,

_Elizabeth Lily Drew_

_1955-1989_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

_May She Rest in Peace_

Frank breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he saw that Nancy's fears were not realized. The gravesite was intact, the vibrant flowers surrounding it untouched. Over the grave itself lay a single blood-red rose. Frank frowned as Nancy bent to pick it up, noticing for the first time the slip of white paper wrapped around its stem. Joe saw the note at the same time and moved to step forward. Frank laid a restraining hand on his arm and whispered, "Give her a minute."

Nancy unfurled the note from the rose with fingers that trembled slightly. Her face blanched as she read the words silently, and her knees threatened to give out from under her. Frank released his hold on Joe and quickly stepped forward himself. He put a gentle hand under her elbow to support her.

"Nan, what is it? What does it say?"

She lifted her eyes from the note to meet his, silent horror darkening them. She glanced at Joe as well, then turned back to the paper in her hand to read the words aloud.

_A mother taken from Nancy Drew_

_And now, alas, her poor father too_

_Brothers and sisters can bring such joys_

_Frank has Joe, together the Hardy boys_

_But who does Nancy have?_

"'Frank has Joe', 'brothers and sisters'," Joe muttered. He looked at Frank and Nancy. "We would be the brothers in that equation, which leaves the sisters. But you're an only child…" His voice trailed off as realization and horror dawned simultaneously. Frank looked down at Nancy as his grip on her elbow tightened.

"Bess and George."

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A/N: I know, a cliffhanger -- everyone loves those, right? sound of crickets chirping Ah well, at least they're fun to write. And I know I don't have to say this, because you guys are such awesome reviewers, but…please let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I have to say, you guys are some of the awesomest reviewers out there (and yes, I know awesomest isn't really a word, but it was appropriate in this case!) Thank you so much for taking the time not only to read, but also review. I definitely appreciate everyone's feedback and comments. And I'm glad to hear that you guys are excited about Bess and George making an appearance -- frankly, so am I!**

**As always, much thanks to my beta, msnancydrew, who, despite being busy with school, still makes time to read over my chapters!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. I'm just having a little fun with them. Promise.**

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The wind whipped Nancy's hair into her face as she stared at Frank, the horror in her eyes reflected in his voice as he came to the same realization that she had -- that Bess and George were the next targets of the kidnappers. Without entirely recognizing the command that her brain had given, she began running in the direction of the car, Frank and Joe closely behind her. As they ran, Frank tossed the keys to Joe, acknowledging the unspoken agreement that when speed was of the essence, Joe was their elected driver.

Within seconds, Joe was peeling out of the parking lot, tires squealing, while Nancy tersely gave him directions. Frank's shoulder slammed hard against the back door of the SUV as Joe made a sharp right turn, but he righted himself quickly and held on to the armrest to anchor himself. In the rearview mirror, he could see the grim determination on his brother's face as he drove. A glance at Nancy's profile showed her jaw clenched tightly, her hands once again balled into fists in her lap. He knew the same horrible thought was going through all of their minds -- that they might already be too late.

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Joe could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders as he drove, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he maneuvered through the light River Heights traffic. Once they exited the city limits, the traffic lessened even more, now down to only the occasional car to be passed. But the adrenaline racing through Joe's body did not lessen, as he pushed the pedal harder and drove as fast as he felt he safely could without getting them all killed in the process. He could only hope that there were no cops on this stretch of highway, because he honestly didn't think he would be willing to pull over even if there were. He could all but feel the fear and tension radiating off of Nancy in waves, and he could only imagine what was going through her mind right then. Demented as their clue was, the kidnappers had been astute in their assessment of Nancy's relationship with Bess and George. They were her sisters, in spirit if not in blood. And they didn't deserve to be pulled into this mess. Joe had had the opportunity to get to know both of them while investigating cases with Nancy, and he counted them amongst some of his closest friends. If the kidnappers had harmed them in any way…

Joe didn't allow himself to finish the thought. He couldn't afford to be distracted by anger, not when the road demanded his complete concentration and every second counted. Pushing the gas pedal down even further, he silently prayed that they would get to Bess and George before the kidnappers did.

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It was over an hour long drive to Chicago from River Heights. They made it in under forty minutes. Joe whipped into the driveway of the brownstone apartment complex that Nancy pointed to and drove through the gate that was fortunately open. _Thank goodness for small miracles_, he thought silently. Nancy directed him to the cousins' apartment building, and before he could even bring the vehicle to a complete stop, she was out the door and running towards the building's lone staircase. Frank cursed and jumped out as well, running after her. He caught up to her at the base of the steps and grabbed her arm tightly.

"Damn it, Nancy, are you crazy? You can't just run in there!"

"Let go of me, Frank! Bess and George might be hurt!" She desperately tried to yank her arm free, but his grip was too strong. Frank grabbed her other arm to hold her in place and shook her slightly.

"You won't do either one of them any good if you go up there and get yourself killed. For all you know, you could be walking into a trap. I want to help Bess and George too, but we need to be careful."

For a moment, Frank was afraid that he hadn't gotten through to Nancy. But then the wild look in her eyes subsided, and she nodded at him. By now, Joe had joined them as well. Exchanging a silent look, both brothers withdrew their weapons from their holsters. The three detectives then proceeded up the staircase, stepping as quietly as possible. Frank and Joe took the lead, with Nancy right behind them. At the top of the staircase, Nancy pointed to the second door on the left, and Frank positioned himself next to it. Joe holstered his weapon and stepped back, assuming a martial arts stance in preparation for kicking the door in. Before he could deliver the blow, however, Frank stopped him with a hand motion and then pointed to the door.

It was slightly ajar.

Joe withdrew his weapon again and positioned himself on the other side of the door. Frank slowly pushed the door in, just wide enough for all of them to enter. Thankfully, it opened silently. He and Joe nodded at each other, then on a mental count of three, both spun into the open doorway -- Frank going in high and Joe going in low. Nancy followed them in closely at their heels, desperately wanting to break into a run and find Bess and George. But she restrained herself, knowing that she would be no good to anyone unarmed.

A quick scan of the living room, dining room, and kitchen found them all to be uninhabited. Quietly, the three detectives made their way down the hall. Frank glanced into the bathroom on his left as he walked. Though it was dark, it appeared to be empty, and the shower curtain was drawn back, revealing an empty bathtub as well. At the end of the hall were two rooms, both with their doors closed. Frank frowned, not liking the situation at all. If the kidnappers were in either room, there would be no way to enter without announcing their presence now. But there was no avoiding that.

Both Joe and Nancy had come to the same conclusion as well. Joe tipped his head in the direction of the door on the right, and Frank nodded silently at him. Joe moved towards that door, while Frank positioned himself by the door on the left. Nancy was torn over which brother to follow. Joe was standing by George's room, and Frank was standing by Bess's. Just as Frank began to open the door, she went with instinct and followed him into the room. And gasped at the sight before her.

Bess and George were on the floor, sitting side by side with their knees drawn up to their chests. Their ankles were tightly bound together with black cord, and their arms were pulled taut behind their backs, presumably bound the same way, although Nancy and Frank couldn't see it from their vantage point. Gags were tied around both girls' mouths. Bess appeared to be relatively unharmed, but George had a large bruise on her cheek and dried blood at the corner of her mouth. At the sight of Nancy and Frank, hope appeared in the cousins' eyes, but they remained unnaturally still. Both girls made small grunting noises through their gags. Hearing the helpless sounds that her friends were making, Nancy started to move towards them, anxious to free them. But Frank's eyes met George's, who seemed to be trying to get his attention. She used her eyes to gesture towards a small black object nestled on the floor between her and Bess. As Frank focused on the box, and then on the wires running to it, his blood ran cold.

As Nancy was passing Frank, he grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Wait, Nan! There's a bomb. If you move them at all, you could set it off!"

Nancy looked at the object that he was pointing to, recognizing the explosive device. She saw the wires going into the box and followed their coiled path. Her heart stopped as she realized that what she had taken merely to be black cord restraining the cousins was really electrical wires running into the bomb. Frank was right -- if the cousins moved and the wires were pulled from the bomb, in all likelihood it would go off.

"Hey guys, I checked out the other room. It's all clear. No sign of…" Joe's voice trailed off at the sight of Nancy and Frank standing just inside the doorway, Frank's hand gripping Nancy's arm tightly. Neither of them were moving, both frozen in an apparent state of shock. Stepping to the other side of Nancy, Joe was able to see what they were both staring at. And he felt his own body stiffen.

Joe's voice snapped Frank out of his momentary shock. He moved towards George and knelt behind her, and he started to gingerly remove her gag. Nancy moved behind Bess to do the same. Frank looked up at his brother, a grim but determined look in his eyes. "Joe, there's a bomb kit in my bag in the rental. Could you go get it?"

Joe nodded, but before he could move, George's gag came free. "There's a timer on the bomb," she gasped.

At her words, all three detectives froze. Frank glanced at the bomb again -- sure enough, there was a large LED clock on the back side of the bomb, facing away from the doorway of the room to where they wouldn't have seen it when they entered.

"Eleven minutes and twenty one seconds," he said quietly.

Joe was already running towards the front door before Frank had even finished reading the time aloud. Nancy finished untying Bess' gag, then carefully wrapped her arms around her blond friend. Nancy didn't know what to say. She felt Bess' tears soaking through her shirt and cursed herself for ever having caused her friends to have to endure something like this. She pulled away from Bess slightly and wiped the tears off her cheeks. Their eyes met, and after a moment, Bess gave her a small smile. Nancy smiled back and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. Still holding on to Bess, she looked over at George.

"George? Are you…"

"I'm fine, Nan. Just really happy to see you guys." George smiled at her, and even though it was a bit forced, it was genuine. Nancy then focused on Frank, who was now examining the bomb carefully.

"What do you think, Frank?" She tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact, despite the dire situation that they were in.

"At first glance, I'd say that the bomb is set up with two detonation methods -- the timer and the leads running into it from Bess and George. I won't know more about the wiring that was used and possible ways of shutting it down until Joe gets back with the kit. But judging from the size, I'd say that it's not packing a huge explosion, just enough to…"

Frank caught himself before he could voice the terrible thought, but George finished it for him. "Just enough to blow us to pieces." She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a strangled sob instead. Frank gave her a sympathetic look, and Nancy moved around Bess so that she was kneeling behind both of the cousins. She grasped both of their shoulders in support.

"We're going to get you guys out of this," she said firmly.

"Damn right we are," Joe agreed, reappearing in the doorway. He knelt on the floor beside Frank and handed him the bomb kit. Nancy glanced down at the clock that was now facing her. Ten minutes and thirteen seconds.

Frank opened the kit and withdrew a pair of small scissors. Leaning in closer to the wires running from George's legs to the bomb, he examined them carefully. The black cord that was wrapped around her legs split right before it reached the bomb into three colored wires: red, black, and green. Next to each set of wires was a tiny red light. Using the scissors, Frank gently cut through the plastic casing on the red wire, careful not to cut through the actual wire itself. He then retrieved a pair of tweezers from the bomb kit, which he used to pull the casing back in order to expose the copper wire beneath. He repeated the process on the black and green wires as well, then examined the three exposed wires together. The red and black wires appeared to be made of copper, but the green one was made of a grayish alloy.

"I've seen this before."

Frank looked at his brother, who was staring transfixed at the exposed wires.

"What do you mean, Joe?"

"In Egypt. The bomb that I disabled at that banquet. It had the same three wires." Joe looked up at Nancy. "Do you remember?"

"Krieger," she breathed. "This looks like the bomb that Krieger had tried to blow Senator Nasser up with."

Frank glanced back and forth at them. "Do you remember what you did to disable it?"

Joe nodded. "We cut the green wire, because it was made of a different material than the other two."

Frank looked back down at the bomb before him. Could it be that easy? Or, if it was Krieger, was this a trap to get them to cut the same wire that they had before, only to cause the bomb to go off this time around?

"The man said to tell you to cut the green one." Bess's thin voice interrupted Frank's thoughts, and everyone's gazes whipped around to land on her.

"What are you talking about, Bess? I don't remember him saying that," George asked.

"It was right after he finished tying you up and hooking your wires into the bomb. You were still pretty out of it from when he hit you. Right before he walked out the room, he turned around and told me that if my friends showed up, to tell them to cut the green wire. But he had a really vicious smile on his face when he said it." Bess's voice cracked as she finished speaking. Nancy ran a comforting hand down her long hair.

"What do you think, guys?" Nancy asked.

Frank looked over at Joe, who had a thoughtful look on his face. After a second, Joe spoke. "I think this guy's telling the truth about it being the green wire. It seems to me that the whole point of this exercise so far has been to mess with our heads. If they had wanted us dead, they've had plenty of opportunities to do it. But, for whatever reason, they're having us play this game of cat and mouse with them. And for us to play, they have to keep us alive. Which includes telling us how to dismantle the bomb so that we don't get blown up."

Frank turned to look at Nancy, who nodded in silent agreement with Joe's assessment. Bess and George looked completely confused after Joe's speech, but Frank knew that explanations would have to wait until later. If there was a later.

"Green it is, then." Not wanting to give himself any more time to waver over his decision, he quickly snipped the wire. And held his breath.

----------------------------

The silence in the room was deafening, as everyone was frozen in place, not daring to breathe, much less move. After a second, the red light next to the set of wires that Frank had just cut faded out. Joe released his breath in a loud whoosh. "I think green's going to be my new favorite color," he joked.

"Well, green _is_ supposed to be the new black in the fashion world this season," Bess teased back, albeit weakly.

Joe didn't respond, but he gave her an appreciative smile. Turning to his brother, he asked, "Should I go grab another pair of scissors so we can finish cutting through these nasty little green wires?"

Frank shook his head at him. "We're not out of the woods yet. Just because the green wire turned out to be the right one in this case doesn't mean that it will be for the other sets of wires. I wouldn't put it past the kidnappers to try to trick us. We need to check each wire before we decide which ones to cut."

Nancy looked at the clock in front of her nervously, which was still facing away from the brothers. "Whatever we do, we need to hurry. There's only seven minutes and nineteen seconds left."

Joe pounded his fist against his thigh in frustration. Frank was already working on the next set of wires coming from George's arms. He knew his brother was working as quickly as possible given the amount of care and precision needed for the task, but there were still two sets of wires from Bess that had to be dealt with as well. A sudden thought struck Joe.

"Bess, do you have eyebrow scissors?"

Bess glared at him. "Joe, this is hardly the time to be worrying about your eyebrows!"

"Ha, ha, Bess. We'll discuss my eyebrows later, after I attend to more pressing matters, like using your scissors to help Frank with this bomb."

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Joe. They're in my bathroom, top drawer on the right." She tilted her head towards a closed doorway next to her bedside. As Joe went to go retrieve the scissors, Nancy turned to George.

"George, do you have a pair too?"

George nodded. "In the hallway bathroom, in the drawer under the left sink."

Nancy rose to go retrieve the scissors just as Joe returned with his pair. Within moments, the three detectives were all carefully working on a set of wires: Frank on George's hands, Joe on Bess' feet, and Nancy on Bess' hands. Bess and George remained silent, not wanting to distract them.

Frank felt sweat begin to bead on his brow as he gingerly separated the split casings on his set of wires. As before, the green one was the anomaly amongst the three.

"The green one's the lucky winner again, guys."

Joe's eyes met his brother's. "Go for it, Frank," he said quietly.

This time, it was slightly less nerve-wracking to cut through the wire. But Frank still held his breath until the little red light went out. He glanced at the timer, which he was now facing. Four minutes and thirty-two seconds. Nancy and Joe were focused intently on their wires. Joe had two of his wires exposed and was now working on the third. Nancy was on her second. She had a look of intense control on her face. Despite whatever she was feeling, however scared she was for her friends, her hands were absolutely steady. Frank couldn't help but admire that.

_Now's not the time, Hardy,_ he chided himself. Turning his attention back to George, he began unwrapping the cords from her arms and legs. As soon as she was free, she spun around to give him a tight hug. Frank could feel her trembling, and he tightened his arms around her.

"George, you should get out of here," he said quietly.

George pulled away from him and gave him a fierce look. "Not on your life, Hardy."

He chuckled softly. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that." He looked over at his brother and Nancy. "How's it going, guys?"

"Got it!" Joe exclaimed. "Guess which one it is?" Not bothering to wait for a response, he cut through the green wire. And watched the red light go out with satisfaction.

"One more to go," Nancy muttered. She tightened the blades of the scissors around the plastic casing of the green wire, applying gentle pressure as she felt the blades go through the soft material. After a second, she put the scissors down and carefully tried to separate the plastic. It wouldn't pull apart. Tension knotted Nancy's shoulders as she spared a moment to glance at the clock. One minute and eleven seconds. She could feel Frank, George, and Joe watching her, but she didn't allow their gazes to distract her. She wielded the scissors on the wire again, pushing further until she felt the blades start to reach the end of the pliable casing. When she pulled on the plastic this time, it came apart easily and exposed the alloy wire underneath.

With one precise motion, she cut through the wire. And let out a relieved sigh as the last tiny red light went out on the bomb. She looked up at Frank and Joe. "We did it." Her voice was full of disbelief. "We did it," she repeated, awe now creeping into her voice. "We did it." This time she laughed, and began removing the cords from Bess' arms as Joe went to work on her legs. A huge grin was spread across his face. George threw her arms around her cousin, laughing and crying at the same time. But Frank was still looking at the bomb.

The clock was still counting down. And there were only nineteen seconds left.

----------------------------

A/N: I know, I know, another cliffhanger -- I think I'm developing a bit of a mean streak when it comes to these. But here's a fun game to distract you while waiting for the next chapter: Kudos to anyone who can find the three X-Files references in this chapter! Also, a side note: everything involving the description of the bomb is pure imagination. I know absolutely nothing about bombs, and even though I fully believe in doing research for the story, this is one subject I don't exactly feel comfortable searching for on the Internet. So bear with me if anything was inaccurate. Oh, and please review!HH


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews on the last chapter! Katie Janeway and Tesub Calle win the joint award for finding the most X-Files references in the last chapter. They were: "Eleven minutes and twenty-one seconds (1121)", "Ten minutes and thirteen seconds (1031)", and Bess's comment about green being the new black (a variation on the comment that Mulder made to Scully in "One Son" about grey being the new black). I know, I'm a total geek for knowing this, but I thought it would be fun to throw some X-Files homage in!**

**Without further ado, here's the next chapter. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. Never were, never will be. I've resigned myself to this fact.**

**----------------------------**

"Run!" Frank shouted, leaping to his feet. He grabbed George, who was closest to him, and lifted her from the floor. She tried to shake free, flabbergasted. "What the…"

Frank cut her off. "The timer's still counting down. Move!"

Nancy looked down at the bomb. There were fifteen seconds on the timer. Before she could blink, it changed to fourteen. She didn't need another moment to think. She jumped off the floor, Joe following suit. Frank started pulling George towards the door. She stumbled slightly, her legs cramped and stiff from being in one position for so long. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to support her, and she used the leverage to half-limp, half-run towards the door. Joe helped Bess up, and Nancy rushed forward to support George on the other side. As Bess stood, her legs gave out from under her entirely. Without pausing, Joe lifted her into his arms and began running behind his brother.

A mental countdown went through Frank's head as they ran down the hallway towards the front door. Wrenching it open, they stumbled out into the daylight. Seven seconds, his brain screamed at him. He steered George and Nancy towards the staircase. Even though he didn't think the bomb was packing much impact, he wanted them as far away from it as possible. They hurried down the stairs, where they saw the rental haphazardly parked against the curb in a fire lane, where Joe had left it in his haste earlier. The five of them went to the other side of the SUV, Joe lowering Bess gently to her feet. They crouched behind the vehicle, hoping that it would provide adequate protection.

As the mental countdown in Frank's head went down to zero, he braced himself for the explosion. And was greeted by silence instead.

_Maybe my internal clock is off_, he thought silently. _Any second now, it's going to blow._

But seconds passed into a minute, and nothing happened. Everyone began to stir impatiently, growing stiff from the crouched position that they were in. Hearing voices behind her, Nancy turned her head to see two college-age girls whispering and pointing in their direction. _Great_, she thought. _Just what we need, unwanted attention!_

She straightened from her bent position, looking over at the others.

"That bomb should have gone off by now. I'm going to go up there and check it out."

Bess grabbed her wrist frantically. "No, Nan! What if it goes off when you get up there? It could be stuck or something!"

Nancy shook her hand off, but her words were gentle. "Bess, bombs don't just get stuck. The timer has to be done by now, which means that the bomb isn't going off. And I'm done hiding here like a fool while the kidnappers get further and further away."

"We could call in a bomb unit, just in case," Frank suggested. He knew that Nancy was probably right, but he still didn't want to take any chances.

Joe stood up. "I'm with Nancy. I'm tired of having these guys not be just one, but ten steps ahead of us all the time. Who knows how long it would take a bomb unit to get out here, especially when they find out that the bomb is most likely a dud anyways. I want to go find our next clue and catch these bastards."

Frank sighed and straightened, resigned to the fact that there would be no stopping his brother and Nancy. George and Bess looked on in confusion.

"Would somebody please explain what is going on!" George demanded.

Nancy squeezed her hand, pulling her up in the process. Bess followed suit, looking torn between wanting to follow her friends and a strong fear of going back into her apartment.

"I promise we'll tell you guys everything, as soon as we get back," Nancy said.

Both George and Bess shook their heads vehemently. "If you think you're going back in that apartment without us, Nancy Drew, you've got another think coming." Although she was still shaking slightly, Bess's voice was firm.

Nancy debated whether it was worth arguing the point, but she knew her friends too well. They had always stood beside her, whether she wanted them to or not. And this time would be no different. Without a word, she led the way back up the stairs and into the apartment, all of her friends following closely behind.

Despite her conviction, Nancy felt her footsteps slowing as she approached Bess's bedroom. She didn't believe that the bomb would go off, or else she would never have let her friends go back into the apartment. But she couldn't help but approach the room cautiously. _Nowhere to go but forward, Drew_, she told herself silently, and stepped forward into the room. She walked directly to the bomb, which was still lying passively on the floor, cut wires hanging from it like a surgery gone horribly wrong. She glanced at the LED display, expecting it to read all zeroes. And was shocked to find letters scrolling across it instead.

Nancy felt her friends move to stand beside her. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the garish red letters running across the display in rapid succession. After a moment's silence while everyone digested the words on the screen, Joe read them aloud.

_BANG!_

_SO YOU FIGURED THIS BOMB OUT TOO_

_NEXT TIME YOU WONT BE SO LUCKY_

_THE TIME HAS COME FOR THE TRIO TO PART_

_NANCY DREW MUST FOLLOW THE DUCKS_

_IVE BOOKED HER A ROOM WITH A VIEW_

_THE HARDYS CAN ENJOY THE WINDY CITY_

_UNTIL THEY RECEIVE THEIR NEXT CLUE_

"What the hell?" Frank muttered under his breath. Joe and Nancy just looked at each other. When the three detectives remained silent, George crossed her arms over her chest.

"Somebody start talking," she demanded.

Breaking her gaze away from the bomb, where it had inevitably landed again, Nancy looked at her best friends.

"Our fathers were kidnapped," she began without preamble. Bess and George both gasped, but they didn't speak while Nancy continued. "Frank, Joe, and I all received phone calls yesterday morning from unidentified callers telling us to meet them in a warehouse in New York, where we saw our fathers bound and gagged. The kidnappers told us that they would leave us a series of clues that would eventually lead us to our fathers. They got away, and we've been chasing their clues ever since. The last one led us to you, and, well, now, you've seen the next one for yourselves. Apparently, I'm supposed to go to Memphis next, to follow the ducks in the Peabody hotel, while Frank and Joe stay here."

"Any idea who these jerks are?" George asked. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Joe smiled at the undisguised venom in her voice. It was rare to see mild-mannered George so riled up.

Frank responded before Nancy could. "Based on this bomb right here, there's a good chance that one of the men is Krieger, from the case that we worked on in Egypt. So far, we've seen two kidnappers, but it's always possible that there's more. All we know is that whoever it is seems to have a serious grudge against us."

"That doesn't really narrow things down, Frank." There was an edge of hysteria in Bess's voice.

"No, it doesn't," Frank replied quietly. Joe gave Bess's arm a reassuring squeeze. "We're trying to figure out who they are, Bess. But meanwhile, I can promise that we're not going to let anything happen to you guys."

Bess felt herself smile at the feeling behind Frank's words, even though she knew in her heart that there was no way he could truly guarantee their safety. Being friends with Nancy for so many years had taught her that. George's next words interrupted her thoughts.

"Why come after Bess and me?"

"To get at me," Nancy replied quietly, her voice empty. "What better way than to take away my father and hurt my best friends?"

"But they didn't hurt us, Nancy," Bess said, trying to reassure her. "You said it yourself -- the bomb was a dud."

"I'm not so sure, Bess," Frank countered. He had a hunch, but this was one time that he desperately hoped that he was wrong. Silently, he knelt on the floor beside the bomb, and retrieving his bomb kit, he began to open the bomb up carefully. Once the back plate was removed, it only took a moment's glimpse at the wiring to confirm his worst fears. He looked up at Nancy, then quickly looked away before she could see the truth in his eyes. But it was too late.

"What is it, Frank?" she asked grimly.

He stood up and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Then he looked at his brother, Bess, and George, and finally back at her. "The bomb wasn't a dud," he said quietly. "If the timer had run down without us cutting all of the green wires first, it would have gone off."

Silence followed as his words sunk in. Finally, Bess asked in a tremulous voice, "So if you guys hadn't gotten here when you did, we would be dead right now?"

Frank didn't respond; he didn't need to. Everyone already knew the answer to that question. Instead, he watched Nancy's face undergo a series of emotions: shock, anger, guilt, and finally, nothing. It was the last that scared him the most.

"Nan?" he queried softly.

"If we had overslept this morning…if we had gotten on the plane any later…if we had gotten stuck in traffic…my best friends would be dead right now," she said in a low voice.

"Nancy," Frank began.

"I need a minute," she said, and walked out of the room.

Frank started to go after her, but George stopped him with a restraining hand on his arm.

"I think it would be better if Bess and I went, Frank," she said softly. It took him a second, but he nodded, accepting that she was right, but wishing desperately that there was something he could do. A rage of helpless frustration surged inside of him, but he had absolutely nowhere to direct it.

----------------------------

Nancy had found a momentary haven on the balcony off of the cousins' living room. She seated herself on the wide ledge, her back braced against the patio wall. Nothing was between her and a two-story drop on the other side, but at the moment, the precariousness of her perch suited her mood perfectly. The wind that was blowing was cold, and it cut through the material of the sweater that Laura had loaned her. But the cold didn't affect her -- it only added to the numbness that she already felt. The balcony overlooked the apartment complex's pool, and she stared at the unmarred surface of the water blankly. No one was around -- it was, after all, a Tuesday, and people were at work, or at school, or just getting on with their lives in general. Normal people, normal lives. _Wouldn't that be nice?_

Nancy turned her head at the sound of the balcony's door sliding open. Bess and George stepped outside, shivering slightly as the cold air blew into their faces. Nancy tried, but couldn't meet their eyes, and looked away instead.

"I really want to be alone right now."

"Nice day outside, don't you think, Bess?" George moved forward to lean against the ledge of the balcony. Bess followed suit, crossing her arms over the wooden rail and propping one foot against the bottom rung casually.

"Very nice. A little cold for my taste, but the sun is just beautiful. And there isn't a single cloud in the sky. I love days like this."

Nancy looked at her friends in astonishment. "How can you just stand there calmly discussing the weather? Don't you realize what just happened? I nearly got both of you killed!"

George turned towards her casually, her voice genial. "Oh, really, Nan? I didn't realize that you were actually going around planting bombs in people's houses these days."

"You know what I mean," Nancy muttered, looking away again.

"No, Nan, we don't know what you mean." Bess stepped forward, a commanding tone in her voice that caused both Nancy and George to stare at her. "The only person responsible for that bomb is the man who put it there. Not you, not me, not George, and not anyone else for that matter. And for you to think otherwise is just plain wrong."

"I may not have been the one who put it there," Nancy said quietly, "but it was put there because of your friendship with me."

"If the trade-off for being your friend is being put in life-threatening situations from time to time, then it's a price we're willing to pay, Nancy," George stated firmly. "You're a detective -- it's who you are. And we love you for it, no matter what the risks are."

Nancy's throat tightened, and she looked away as unwanted tears filled her eyes. George's words were a stark contrast to the echo of Ned's that seemed to be permanently burned into her heart.

Seeing the look of pain that crossed her friend's face angered George, because she knew exactly who she was thinking about. "Ned really did a number on your head, didn't he?" she muttered. Nancy didn't respond. Bess gave her cousin a warning look, then stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on Nancy's arm.

"Nancy, I know that Ned said some things to you about your detective work when he broke up with you. You never told us exactly what he said, but you haven't been the same since. And you can't let it affect you this way. You can't let him get to you this way. Whatever he said, Nancy, he was wrong. You're not responsible for the actions of criminals. You're the one who helps put them away."

Nancy turned to look at her, and for a moment, Bess thought that she had gotten through to her. But Nancy's next words dissolved that illusion.

"It doesn't matter who's responsible when it's the people that I love who get hurt in the end," she said quietly. Without giving them a chance to respond, she turned away from them again. Bess dropped her hand from Nancy's arm and sighed quietly in frustration. She felt George lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, and together, they watched their best friend silently, who in turn watched the empty pool.

----------------------------

"I don't like this, Joe," Frank muttered as he paced in Bess's bedroom.

"Which part, Frank? The part where our fathers got kidnapped, or the part where Bess and George nearly got blown to pieces?" Frustration echoed in Joe's voice.

Frank stopped pacing and looked at him. "The part where the kidnappers keep messing with Nancy's head."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. Other than kidnapping Dad, everything so far has been directed at Nancy. First the rose on her mother's grave, and now Bess and George. Either these kidnappers just haven't gotten around to our turn yet, or they've got it in for Nancy in particular."

"She's not going to Memphis alone. I don't care what that clue says." Frank's voice was firm, and harsher than he had intended. Joe looked at him in surprise.

"Not that I don't agree with you, big brother, but how exactly do you plan on keeping her from going? Nancy isn't exactly the subservient type, in case you hadn't noticed."

Frank glared at him. "I don't care if I have to tie her up and hold her hostage. She's not going."

Joe wasn't intimidated by the ferociousness in Frank's voice. Instead, he gave his brother a contemplative look. "You know, big brother, this caveman personality isn't like you at all. Are you just tense, or is it something about a certain red-headed detective in particular that brings out this side of you?"

Now Frank's glare was lethal. "This is hardly the time to be discussing my love life, Joe."

Joe grinned. "I never said anything about love. Interesting that you just did, though."

Before Frank could explode, Joe threw up his hands in mock surrender. "No more teasing, I promise." His voice became serious. "I care about Nancy too, and I don't want to see her hurt anymore than you do. And I don't like that the kidnappers are trying to separate us. There's always more safety in numbers. So do whatever you have to do to convince Nancy not to go. I'll back you up."

"Back him up for what?" Nancy asked from the doorway.

----------------------------

Frank turned at the sound of Nancy's voice. He had a second to wonder how much of their conversation she had overheard before he got a good look at her. Her face was pale, and her features were drawn. But it was her eyes that concerned him the most. He had never seen such a haunted expression in them before. Bess and George entered the room behind her, and he met George's gaze. She shook her head at him in frustration.

Joe attempted to cover up the momentary silence following Nancy's question.

"I meant that I would back him up whenever we actually find the kidnappers." Joe knew it was weak, but it was the best that he could come up with. Normally Nancy would have seen right through him, but at the moment, she was too preoccupied to notice.

"What's our next move?" she asked quietly. Joe turned to Bess and George.

"Can you guys tell us exactly what happened, starting from when the kidnapper arrived?"

Bess nodded. "It was after George left for work, around 8:30 this morning. I had just gotten out of the shower and gotten dressed, and I was blow-drying my hair. That's probably why I never heard the front door open. When I came out of the bathroom, there was a man in a black ski mask standing in my bedroom, just waiting for me. I screamed and tried to get back into the bathroom, but he grabbed me and pressed a wet cloth over my nose. I must have passed out, and I when I came to, I was already bound and gagged, and he was setting up the bomb."

"If you had already left for work, why did you come back home?" Joe asked George.

"I got a phone call from a man claiming to be from the leasing office at 9:00," she replied. "He said that the tenants living below us had complained about water dripping from their roof, and when the maintenance guys went to check it out, they found that our apartment had flooded with a leak from the air-conditioning unit on the roof of the building. According to him, they had stopped the leak, but he recommended that I come home to salvage what I could and remove items from the floor while they worked on drying out the water and replacing the carpet."

George took a deep breath, shaking her head. "It sounded plausible enough. I knew that Bess had probably already left for work, but I tried calling her anyways. There was no answer. So I left work and came back here. When I came in, I was surprised to find that the carpet was dry. I figured that maybe the leak had been limited to one room, so I started checking all of them. When I walked into Bess's room, the kidnapper grabbed me from behind. I tried to fight him, and I managed to rip part of his mask away. I didn't see much -- I just caught a glimpse of a scar on his cheek before he hit me. The blow pretty much knocked me out. When I came to, I was on the floor next to Bess and the kidnapper was gone. After that, there was nothing to do but wait."

Frank picked up the questioning. "Other than telling you about the green wire, did the kidnapper say anything else to you before he left, Bess?"

She shook her head. "I tried to ask him why he was doing this. I guess I got a little hysterical, because that was when he gagged me. But he only talked about the green wire, nothing else."

"I've been thinking," Joe said slowly. "What if the bomb _had_ gone off? How would they have gotten us the next clue? Or would that have been game over?" Bess gasped, and Frank, George, and Nancy all glared at him. He held a hand up in a gesture of peace. "I'm not trying to be cold about this. I'm just trying to think of it from the kidnappers' perspective. We said it ourselves -- so many things could have gone wrong that could have caused us to not get here in time. They would have had no way of guaranteeing that we would be able to disable the bomb and see the clue on the LED display. They didn't care whether Bess and George lived or not -- their goal was to hurt us one way or another. But the game isn't over -- they still have our fathers. So if the bomb had gone off, how would they have gotten us the next clue?"

"Maybe there is no game. Maybe they've already killed our fathers, and they're just enjoying jerking us around," Nancy said bitterly.

Frank's stomach tightened at her words, but he shook his head. "No, I don't believe that. I won't. If they had wanted to kill them, they could have done it from the beginning. But we saw them alive. They want to inflict as much pain on us as possible. That means drawing this out until the very end."

Nancy didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. Grief was already shadowing her features, and she felt tears threaten. She turned away before anyone could see them.

"So where's the other copy of this clue, then?" she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"That's what we have to look for," Joe stated, his voice firm. "Let's spread out -- everyone pick a room and start searching."

Bess and George decided to search their own rooms, since they would be most able to spot something out of place. Joe took the living room, Nancy the dining room and bathrooms, and Frank the kitchen. The apartment was silent as the five friends conducted their search. Finally, Frank called out.

"I found it!" he shouted.

Everyone followed the sound of his voice to the kitchen, where he pointed to a blue post-it note on the fridge. It was buried amongst other notes of the same appearance, but the hand-writing on it set it apart. It was a hasty masculine scrawl, compared to the more feminine hand-writing of Bess and George on the notes beside it. The words on the note were identical to those that had been displayed on the bomb. Joe shook his head.

"Good catch, Frank. That would have been really easy to miss."

"Guess they have a lot of faith in our detecting skills," Frank muttered sarcastically. He used cleaning gloves that were lying next to the sink to carefully remove the note from the fridge. "Bess, do you have a Ziploc bag?" She nodded and pulled one out of a cabinet, handing it to him. He dropped the post-it note into it, then pointed to the counter beside the fridge. "That's not all they left us."

Two sheets of paper lay side by side on the counter. Everyone leaned in, careful not to touch the papers in case there were fingerprints.

"They're hotel reservations!" Bess said in surprise.

"Guess you were right about the Peabody in Memphis, Nancy," George commented. "The other one's for a really nice boutique hotel in downtown Chicago. I guess that's where they want you guys to wait for your next clue," she said, looking at Frank and Joe.

"We're not splitting up," Frank declared emphatically. Joe winced at the uncompromising tone in his brother's voice; he had hoped that Frank would approach the subject with some diplomacy. Apparently, though, the caveman routine was still in effect.

Nancy's eyebrows shot up, and some of her old fire returned. "We've been following these clues to the letter so far. Why should we deviate now?"

"Because I said so." Even as the words left Frank's mouth, the logical part of his brain screamed in protest. He knew there were dozens of completely rational reasons that he could present to Nancy, convince her to see things his way. Problem was, he had no intention of being rational about this.

Meanwhile, Joe braced for the imminent explosion from Nancy. She didn't disappoint him.

"Because you said so! Let me tell you something, Frank Hardy." She drilled a finger into his chest, and the unexpected force of it knocked him half a step back before he regained his balance and planted his feet firmly. "I am not risking my father's life by not following the kidnappers' instructions, just _because you said so!_"

She drew in a deep breath, the anger bringing a dark flush to her cheeks. Frank matched her glare for glare, but deep down, he was glad to see some of the old Nancy return. He would take her being angry at him over the haunted look that had been in her eyes any day.

Joe attempted to break the stand-off between his brother and Nancy.

"Look, Nancy, what my brother is trying to say in his own bull-headed way, is that it's not safe for us to split up. They're changing the rules on us, and that's never a good thing. We've always worked well as a team, and I think it'll be better for us to stick together."

Nancy sighed, Joe's concern deflating her anger slightly. "I understand what you're saying, Joe, but I can't take that chance with my father's life."

"Please, Nancy." Frank's quiet voice had her turning back to him. The anger in his eyes had faded, and the look in their brown depths was pleading. "I don't want anything to happen to you." _I couldn't handle it_, he added silently, but didn't voice the words aloud. Nancy stared at him, the deep emotion in his voice convincing her where his ultimatums hadn't.

"I'll stay in Chicago tonight," she conceded. "But tomorrow, I'm going to Memphis, whether you like it or not."

"And we're going with you," Bess stated. George nodded her agreement.

"No, you're not," Nancy replied firmly. "You both have your own jobs, your own lives, and I'm not taking you guys away from that again to have you follow me on a case all over the country."

"This isn't a case, Nancy, this is your father's life. And yours. We're coming with you." George's voice was quiet, but her tone brooked no argument.

Nancy shook her head rapidly, and this time panic threaded through her voice. "I can't risk losing you guys. I don't know what's happened to my father, or if he's even alive. I can't lose you too. I can't lose you!"

Her voice rose at the end and threatened to break. Her friends stared at her in shock -- they had never seen her this distraught before. Bess laid a tentative hand on her arm.

"It's okay, Nancy. Please don't be upset. We won't go if you don't want us to. Promise."

Nancy nodded and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Bess tightly, holding on for a few extra seconds to steady herself. Then she turned to George and gave her a long hug as well. "I love you both. I promise I'll be in touch."

The tears that never seemed to be too far from the surface threatened again, and Nancy turned away quickly. She started towards the front door, leaving the Hardys no choice but to follow. Frank added the hotel reservations to the Ziploc bag, then turned to Bess and George. "I'll call the FBI and have them send a team out here to collect the bomb. Maybe they'll be able to get some evidence off of it. Meanwhile, you guys be careful."

"Take care of her, Frank," Bess said quietly.

"I intend to, Bess," he vowed. He and Joe gave the girls quick hugs before turning to follow Nancy. Bess and George stared at their retreating forms until Joe quietly shut the front door behind them. After a moment, Bess turned to look at her cousin.

"Want me to check for flights to Memphis tomorrow?"

George sighed. "Five minutes ago, I would have said yes. But after seeing Nancy's reaction just now, I don't think we should do that to her. I've never seen her so…unstable before. Like she's on the verge of breaking."

"But that's all the more reason for us to be there for her," Bess argued.

"She's not ready to open up to us, Bess. You saw that for yourself out there on the balcony. And I'm afraid of pushing her right now."

Bess opened her mouth to disagree, but then closed it again. Finally, after a moment, she spoke. "You're right, George." She looked at the front door again, where Frank and Joe had just walked out. "If we can't be with her, then at least Frank and Joe are. I know they'll take care of her."

George nodded and draped an arm around her cousin's shoulders. She too looked at the closed door where all of their friends had walked out and left them behind. "She'll be okay, Bess." She tried to sound confident, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice. Both cousins stood there for a long time afterwards, not saying anything.

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	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to update! I hit a major spell of writer's block, and I finally managed to push through it with the help of some amazingly supportive people from this fandom. To everyone who encouraged me when I simply had nothing to write, thank you! And thanks to everyone for waiting -- please review and let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Nancy, Frank, and Joe. Any other original characters are my own, and I shall do with them as I please.**

**----------------------------**

The mood in the car was somber as Frank drove away from Bess and George's apartment complex. After his nerve-wracking mad dash into Chicago earlier, Joe had opted for the role of backseat driver this time. Nancy sat in the front, in the stiff posture that seemed to take over her every time they got in the car. When Frank began to get onto the highway that would take them into downtown Chicago, Nancy spoke.

"Can we go back to River Heights first? I'd like to go home and pack a bag and check on Hannah." Her last words were rushed, as if she was finally giving voice to a fear that she had harbored in her heart and wanted to purge as quickly as possible. Frank turned to look at her carefully. She tried to hide it, but he could see the fear in her eyes. "No problem, Nan," he replied quietly. He made a U-turn under the highway and got on in the direction leading back to River Heights. Nancy pulled out her cell phone to call her house and let Hannah know that they were coming. As the phone began to ring, Nancy held her breath. _Please pick up,_ she prayed silently. After six rings, when Nancy heard her own voice come up on the answering machine, she hung up.

"She's not answering," Nancy said quietly, to no one in particular.

Frank silently pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

After that, no one spoke at all. All three detectives were quiet, the silence only broken each time Nancy had to give Frank instructions on where to turn. Even Joe, who was normally effective at breaking up tense silences with irreverent comments, remained mute. Finally, when it seemed that Nancy's nerves had reached the breaking point from the grim atmosphere that overshadowed the car, they pulled up in front of her house. Just the sight of it made her want to cry and smile at the same time. Here was comfort, security, and the solid warmth of always being welcomed with open arms. Both her father's arms and Hannah's. But her father was missing. And Hannah…

Gripped by fear clutching at her throat, Nancy jumped out of the car and ran for the front door. She pulled her keys out of her bag, and fumbling them slightly in her haste, unlocked the front door. She heard Frank and Joe come up behind her as she threw the door open, dreading what she might find inside. But as she took in the familiar sight of the front hallway lined with family photographs and the knick-knacks that Hannah liked to collect, all untouched, the knot in her stomach loosened slightly. And then dissolved altogether as another familiar sight greeted her.

"Hannah!" Nancy flew into Hannah's open arms as waves of relief washed over her. She couldn't stop herself from shaking as she was enveloped in the comforting warmth, Hannah's arms tight around her. Feeling the tremors, Hannah looked over Nancy's shoulder at Frank and Joe, a questioning look in her eyes. But both brothers remained silent. Finally, Hannah pulled away from Nancy's embrace.

"Nancy, what on earth is going on? First your father doesn't come home all night, and now you're here, and shaking like a leaf! What's happened?"

Nancy wanted to throw her arms around Hannah again, in sheer gratitude that she was unharmed. No one could ever replace her mother, but this woman meant the world to her. If anything had happened to her…

Shaking her head at the thought, Nancy grasped Hannah's hands tightly in her own instead. "I tried to call you, but you didn't answer."

"I went out to pick up your father's dry-cleaning," Hannah replied. "You must have called then." She squeezed Nancy's hands. "Now will you tell me what's going on?"

"I will, but I think you'd better sit down." Leading the older woman to the living room, Nancy and the Hardy brothers proceeded to tell her the whole distressing tale.

----------------------------

An hour later, Nancy, Frank, and Joe were all seated around the Drews' dining table, while Hannah laid steaming dishes of food in front of them. It hadn't taken them long to tell her the whole story -- after all, they had had plenty of practice telling it lately. As soon as they had finished, Hannah had gotten up and headed straight to the kitchen, stating that she could think better if she kept her hands busy. And no problem should be solved on an empty stomach, Hannah Gruen declared emphatically. The responding grumble in Joe's stomach agreed with that statement. Now, smelling the tantalizing aromas arising from the food in front of him, Joe could only moan his appreciation.

"Hannah, this looks wonderful," Frank said, to make up for his brother's loss of the power of speech. "But you didn't need to go through the trouble."

"It's no trouble," Hannah replied firmly. "You three have been through a lot -- you deserve a good home-cooked meal. And there's no use in you getting sick by not taking care of yourselves."

Joe took his first bite of the steaming spaghetti and made another sound of appreciation. "Hannah, will you marry me?" Joe mumbled around the food in his mouth.

Hannah gave a hearty chuckle and patted him on the head affectionately. "Twenty years ago, boy-o, you would have had to get in line."

Nancy couldn't help but join in the laughter at Hannah's response to Joe's proposal. But she took very little food herself. Her appetite seemed to have disappeared with her father, and now after what had nearly happened with Bess and George, it was nonexistent.

Frank noticed the meager portions on her plate and frowned. "Nancy, you need to eat. You heard what Hannah said."

Nancy shook her head at him, her fork toying with her food. "I'm not hungry, Frank."

Frank opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Hannah came around the table to Nancy's side. She heaped a large portion of the pasta onto Nancy's plate, with one single word.

"Eat."

Nancy began to protest, but Hannah merely stared at her silently and raised an eyebrow. Grumbling slightly under her breath, Nancy began to eat.

----------------------------

After the meal, Nancy went upstairs to her old room to pack a bag while the Hardys waited downstairs. Hearing footsteps, she looked up from her packing to see Hannah walk into the room. Wordlessly, Hannah came to her side by the foot of the bed and began folding a sweater than Nancy had laid out. She handed the folded garment to Nancy, and when Nancy reached for it, she saw that the older woman's hand was trembling slightly. She took the sweater from her and laid it in her bag, but before Hannah could reach for the next one, she took her hand in hers gently. Hannah sighed, then looked up and met her eyes.

"Nancy, I'm worried."

Nancy wrapped her arms around Hannah's wide frame and rested her cheek against the top of her brown hair, now sprinkled with hints of gray. "Me too, Hannah," she said quietly. "It kills me not knowing where Dad is, what condition he's in, what those men could be doing to him. And I hate that we have no leads, no idea where to even begin looking."

Hannah pulled away from her and cupped her cheek in her hand. She studied Nancy's face carefully, the face that she had watched mature from that of a precocious young girl to a charming young woman. And she worried.

"It's not just your father that I was talking about."

Nancy averted her eyes from hers, turning away to finish her packing. "I'll be fine, Hannah. I can take care of myself."

"You can keep telling me that until you're blue in the face, Nancy. It still won't keep me from worrying about you."

Nancy spun around to face her. "I'm worried about you too!" she nearly shouted. "I'm worried about you, and Dad, and Bess, and George, and anyone else who's unfortunate enough to be a part of my life and a potential target for these madmen!"

She sank to the bed, dropping her head into her hands. She felt the mattress sink down under Hannah's weight as she sat down next to her and gathered her close. Hannah rocked her, much as she had when she was a little girl, stroking her soft strawberry blond strands while murmuring to her softly. But the comforting motion didn't relax her as it once used to. Nancy held herself stiffly, her eyes painfully dry as she stared into the space past Hannah's shoulder.

Hannah felt Nancy's resistance and, for the first time since she had entered the Drew household, felt inadequate. She finally released Nancy, and the moment she did, Nancy stood up and finished throwing her things into her duffel bag, zipping it shut with finality. She paused with her hand still on the bag, and after a moment, looked at Hannah. Her face was blank, but there was an unspoken apology in her eyes.

"Will you go stay with someone for a few days, until this is over?"

Hannah opened her mouth to refuse -- she didn't want to be away from the house in case Carson's kidnappers called. But then she remembered Nancy's words about who she was worried about, and that she was on that list. If it meant that it would be one less person for Nancy to worry about…

"If that's what you want, honey."

Nancy nodded firmly. "I do." Echoing Hannah's thought, she continued, "I'll forward all of the calls from our home phone to my cell phone, just in case the kidnappers decide to call here. And I promise I'll let you know as soon as we find them." _Dead or alive_, her mind screamed, but her heart stumbled over the words and they remained unsaid, though both women heard them anyway.

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Joe looked up as Nancy and Hannah descended the stairs. He had never seen Hannah Gruen look grim in his life, but that was the only way that he could describe the expression on her face now. In contrast, Nancy's face was expressionless as she swung her bag up her arm and over her shoulder. Her eyes met Joe's, and he felt pity stir in him. She wouldn't appreciate the thought, he knew. Her firm voice and stiff posture confirmed that as she asked, "Where's Frank?"

"He stepped outside to call Mom and ask her to go stay with friends or family for a while. He said he wanted to get some fresh air while he was at it."

Joe rose to stand next to Nancy, setting down the remote that he had been toying with restlessly. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Nan…"

At the sound of the back door opening, Nancy turned towards it, stepping away from the hand on her shoulder in the process. Joe sighed and looked at Hannah, who had an equally frustrated look on her face. Nancy stepped towards Frank and nodded at the cell phone in his hand.

"Did you get a hold of your mom?"

"Yeah," he replied, dragging a hand through his hair. "She's going to go stay with a cousin for a few days." He didn't add that he had also spoken to George, and let her know where they were and that they were okay. He didn't think Nancy would appreciate keeping her friends involved in what was going on, even if it was only to keep them from worrying about her.

"We should go," Nancy said. "I don't want to risk missing the next clue in case the kidnappers try to reach you at the hotel."

Frank nodded, and the three detectives made their way to the front door, with Hannah following closely behind. At the doorway, Nancy spun around abruptly and gave Hannah a fierce hug.

"I love you, Hannah. Please be careful."

Hannah couldn't help the tears that sprung to her eyes. She attempted to chuckle, but it sounded more like a sob. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Nancy."

Nancy leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek. Turning to Frank, she reached for the keys in his hand and gave him a small smile. "I'll drive."

"Gladly," he responded with a smile of his own. As she walked out to the SUV and opened the back to put her bag in, he turned to Hannah and gave her another kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for everything, Hannah." She nodded and gave him a watery smile, and he followed Nancy to the car, climbing into the passenger seat next to her. Joe looked out at his brother and Nancy, and then down at Hannah. He squeezed the older woman's arm gently. "Don't worry, Hannah, we'll take care of her." Before she could tear up again, he winked at her. "After all, I've got to impress my future wife."

She laughed and swatted him playfully on the arm. "You are, and always have been, a hopeless flirt, Joseph Hardy." She gave him a wink of her own. "And that's what I love about you."

Joe placed his hands over his chest with a flourish. "Oh, be still, my heart!"

Hannah laughed and gave him a gentle shove out the door. "Get out of here, you nut."

Joe laughed. "I love you too, Hannah." He blew her a kiss before jumping into the car. Nancy pulled out of the driveway, heading down the street that would take her to the highway. As she glanced in the rearview mirror, she saw Hannah waving at them, a very worried look on her face. And she was struck by a sense of déjà vu, remembering the look on Laura Hardy's face when they had left her that very morning. _One more person left behind, _Nancy thought to herself, sighing.

----------------------------

"Frank, you really didn't need to get a suite. I would have been fine with my own room."

"Nancy, we've been over this. The closer we are, the safer we'll all be."

"Oh, so you got this room so that I could protect you from the big, bad kidnappers."

Frank tried, desperately, to smother a grin, but failed miserably. Nancy glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. Sadly, that had the unfortunate effect of making Frank's smile appear full-force. Before any blood could be shed, Joe cleared his throat.

"Um, Nan, as much as I would enjoy watching you rip into my brother, he's got a point. Not only will we be able to keep an eye on each other, but I'd rather stay here than in the room that those goons had reserved for us, where we'd practically be sitting ducks."

"But what if they left the next clue in that room?"

"It could just as easily be a trap," Frank replied.

For the first time since they had all run into each other, a familiar mischievous glint appeared in Nancy's eyes.

"Well, we'll just have to find a way into that hotel room then, won't we? It's only a few floors below us…I'm sure I could figure out a way to climb down and open the door for you guys."

Frank laughed. "Easy there, Nan. Usually the simplest way is the most obvious. Why don't we come up with a story and try asking the front desk for a key first?"

Nancy and Joe looked at each other.

"He's no fun," Joe stated.

Nancy just shook her head in disappointment and led the way out the door. Frank's laughter echoed in the hallway.

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As they approached the front desk, they saw a pretty brunette who appeared to be in her early twenties working alone. The male concierge who had checked them in earlier was nowhere in sight. Joe grinned.

"Leave this to me."

Before Nancy or Frank could say anything, he strode up to the marble counter, a swagger in his step. Frank groaned, and Nancy's lips curved upwards in a smile.

"It's nice to know that some things never change."

"Sometimes they should. You would think he would have learned his lesson by now about flirting while we're on a case."

"You have to admit, it has its benefits. He's certainly laying on the charm for this one." Nancy cocked her head in Joe's direction, and both she and Frank stepped a bit closer, staying out of sight around the corner from the front desk.

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Joe fixed a charming smile on his face, the smile which, in his humble opinion, females just couldn't resist. He glanced subtly at the nametag that the woman was wearing.

"Hi, Jennifer. I have a special favor to ask, and I'm sure you're just the person to help me."

Jennifer gave him a bland look, but Joe continued on, undaunted.

"My parents stayed in this very hotel on their honeymoon. They told me all about it, and how much they loved it here. Since their 25th anniversary is coming up, I wanted to do something special for them."

He lowered his voice, and his eyes watered slightly.

"See, shortly after they were married, my dad was in an…accident. After that, he never wanted to travel anywhere. So I thought it'd be nice to book the same room that they stayed in so many years ago, to remind them of when they were so happy."

Joe's voice trembled over the last words, and Jennifer laid a hand over his.

"That's so sweet of you," she cooed.

Joe gave her a tremulous smile.

"I'm so glad you think so. That's why I need your help. I wanted to make sure that the room's…okay…for my dad, with the wheelchair and all. Would it be possible to get a temporary key for that room, if no one's staying there? It's room 1627. I promise I'll get the key back to you right away."

He gave her his best puppy dog look, and she patted his hand.

"It's so wonderful that it's your parents' 25th anniversary."

Joe nodded. "I know. It's hard to believe, but they're still as happy as the day that they were married."

"That's wonderful," Jennifer repeated, but the falsely sweet tone faded from her voice as it hardened. "Although, it's interesting that they spent their honeymoon here, considering that this hotel was only built twelve years ago."

She pulled her hand away from his and gave him a stern look. "You know, it's one thing to hit on me, but it's really low to use your poor father's disabilities to pick up a girl. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Joe mentally kicked himself, but schooled his expression into one of confusion. "I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong hotel. It's an honest mistake, I swear."

He turned away abruptly and walked around the corner, to where his brother and Nancy were shaking with silent laughter. They walked further down the corridor towards the hotel fitness center until they were out of earshot, where Frank and Nancy started laughing outright. Joe just glared at them.

"Laugh it up, you two. How was I supposed to know this hotel is only twelve years old?"

Frank just kept laughing, but Nancy patted his shoulder reassuringly, even though she still had a wide grin on her face.

"It's okay, Joe. You still had her fooled -- she just thought you were a guy with a bad pick-up line, instead of someone trying to break into a hotel room."

"Yeah, the hotel room -- how about we focus on that?" he said, shooting a pointed look at his brother, who was still chuckling at Nancy's comment. "How exactly are we going to get in there?" Joe turned to Nancy, whose gaze was fixed on a point behind his head.

"It may be easier than we thought," she said slowly, focusing on a cream door next to the fitness center entrance. On the door in gilded gold letters was a single word: Housekeeping.

Joe waggled his eyebrows at Nancy suggestively. "Does this mean we get to see you in a French maid outfit, Nan?"

"In your dreams, Joe," she tossed over her shoulder, walking to the door and testing the handle. It turned easily.

Joe was about to make another suggestive comment when Frank cuffed him on the back of the head, none too gently. "Focus, Joe," he said firmly. "Now do you want to be the lookout, or do you want to find a uniform and go with Nancy?"

"I'll be the lookout. You can go play dress-up with Nancy," Joe said with a smirk. Frank was about to retort back when Nancy appeared from the closet, dangling a key card attached to a lanyard in her hand.

"Jackpot," she said with a grin. "Apparently they keep a master key in the housekeeping closet."

"A key to all of our rooms in an unlocked closet that anyone can get to." Joe shook his head. "That makes me feel so much better about our safety."

"Normally, I wouldn't be too thrilled with that either, but since it just made our lives that much easier, I'm not going to complain. Here," Nancy handed a uniform to Frank, keeping one for herself.

"There are bathrooms down the hall. I'll meet you back here in a minute. There's a service cart in the closet that we can use for our cover. Joe, if anyone comes down this hallway, try to get rid of them."

"With a better story this time, little brother," Frank added. Joe just glared at their backs as they headed towards the guest bathrooms, laughing.

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Twenty minutes later, Nancy and Frank were on their way down the hallway of the sixteenth floor, Frank pushing a service cart laden with towels and Nancy walking alongside him. Both were dressed in drab grey service uniforms, disappointing Joe in his visions of a short little maid's uniform for Nancy. He was stationed at the end of the hall by the elevator; the plan was that he would move to stand outside the door of the room that Nancy and Frank were going into once they had entered. He would pretend to be talking on his cell phone, and would raise his voice as if arguing with someone in warning if anyone appeared in the hall. That would serve the dual purpose of alerting Nancy and Frank, as well as hopefully deterring the other person from lingering in the hallway.

He watched Frank pause with the cart outside room 1627 while Nancy knocked on the door. Since they weren't sure if the room had been given out to someone else, they had agreed that it would be best to knock first, and play out the housekeeping act in case someone actually answered. After a minute, when the door remained closed, Nancy slipped the key card into the door and opened it casually, striding inside with a stack of towels in her hand and the air of someone whose sole purpose was to clean the room inside. Frank followed her in with a stack of his own.

Once inside the room, they set the towels on the desk and immediately began their search. Without exchanging a word, they each took a separate part of the room, Nancy searching the beds and nightstands while Frank looked over the desk, closet, and bathroom. Neither left any spot unchecked -- Nancy even crouched on the floor to check under the beds. After that search revealed nothing but dust mites, she straightened, dragging a hand through her hair.

"There's nothing here, Frank."

He shoved the chair back under the desk with more force than was necessary.

"No, there's not," he agreed, the frustration in his voice mirroring Nancy's.

They picked up their towels and headed back towards the closed door. As they approached it, they heard Joe's voice rise in anger, shouting something to 'Jeffrey' about owing him money. Nancy froze with her hand on the doorknob, and Frank came to an abrupt halt behind her. They stood silently, not daring to exchange a word in case whoever was in the hallway with Joe was within hearing range. Nancy could feel the adrenaline running through her veins, her whole body tensed as if ready to spring into action at the slightest signal from Joe. Behind her, Frank was close enough that she could feel the stiffness of his own body, and his breath lightly brushed the back of her neck. As his closeness penetrated through her heightened senses, Nancy felt her own breath catch. She was debating whether or not to whisper something, anything to Frank, just to dispel the nerve-wracking silence, when she heard a soft knock on the door. Peering out of the peephole, she saw Joe standing on the other side. She pulled the door open quickly, and she and Frank stepped out into the hallway, glancing both ways to make sure no one else was approaching. Joe slipped his cell phone into his pocket.

"It's all clear. Just someone going into his room two doors down. Did you guys find anything?

Frank and Nancy shook their heads silently, and the look of disappointment on Joe's face mirrored their own.

----------------------------

All three friends were quiet as they entered their own hotel room. Nancy and Frank had changed back into their clothes, replacing the uniforms and the service cart in the closet undetected. The familiar routine of detective work -- finding disguises, sneaking into a locked room, searching for clues -- had taken Nancy's mind off of their fathers' predicament for a short while. But the disappointment of not turning up the next clue, and the reality that they had absolutely nothing to go on, brought the fear and helplessness rushing back full-force. She turned towards her room without meeting Frank's or Joe's eyes.

"I'm going to bed, guys."

"Nan," Frank began, but he didn't know what to say. It didn't matter -- she had already left the living room and closed her door behind her. He sighed in frustration and turned in the opposite direction, going into the room that he and Joe were sharing.

Joe remained in the living room, looking at both closed doors on either side of him. He resisted a strong urge to punch a fist into the wall, and plopped down on the couch instead, staring at the blank TV screen blindly as he worked to contain an overwhelming feeling of uselessness.

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Nancy unzipped her duffel bag, pulling out her pajamas and setting them on the bed. She then pulled out a picture frame that normally sat on her dresser in her room in River Heights, but that she had brought with her when she packed her bag. It was a picture of her and Carson, taken two years before when they had taken a vacation to the Grand Canyon. It was one of the rare times when Nancy had gone on a trip and not run into a mystery, and Carson hadn't had to take any work with him on the trip. Both looked happy and relaxed. The vibrant rock formations with their colourful striations behind them formed an ideal backdrop for the picture. Carson had his arm around Nancy's shoulders, with a content paternal smile on his face. Nancy had her arm wrapped around his waist and she was laughing into the camera as the wind blew her baseball cap off her head. The cap itself was in the air, captured in mid-flight by the tourist-turned-photographer who had graciously taken the picture for them.

Looking at the picture, she traced a finger over her father's familiar face, her throat tight with tears. Her father had always been invincible to her, a pillar of strength after her mother had died. She had missed her mother terribly, but Carson had helped to fill that gap, and given her a stable home and a strong foundation. He had encouraged her to be independent, and despite his concern for her, he had fully supported her love of mysteries and investigating. And now, one of those mysteries had caused some madmen to harm him…

Nancy set the picture down on the nightstand abruptly, as if the frame had burned her hand. She changed into her pajamas quickly, her movements agitated. Not bothering with washing her face, she pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Thoughts and images raced through her head, a jumbled mess of confusion. There was one thought that she pinpointed and focused on, and she held on to that thought as she fell into a restless sleep.

_Come hell or high water, I'm going to Memphis tomorrow._

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	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I am so, so sorry for being slow in updating. There were a lot of reasons for it, including some crazy travels in my life, as well as me struggling a lot with this chapter. I have to admit, this chapter was a hard one to write, and (without begging too much) I would love to hear everyone's thoughts on it. Also, I just want to thank everyone who's stuck with this story so far, despite the long waits between updates. I promise you, no matter how long it takes me to update, I will not abandon you guys or this story. There is an ending to this, and we will get there eventually!**

**Disclaimer: Nancy – not mine. Joe – not mine. Frank – not mine (sadly). Other characters from the books – not mine either. I think you get the picture. **

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Joe awoke to the sound of the television being turned on in the living room. He was normally a sound sleeper; it usually took his brother multiple attempts, and lots of grumbling and cursing (mainly by him, Joe admitted to himself) to get him up in the morning. But since his father had gone missing, he was constantly alert, even in sleep. He rose from the bed, grumbling slightly to himself. Being alert still didn't mean he was a morning person, and he glared at the alarm clock, which read 7:55 a.m., an ungodly early hour by his standards. Glancing down at his attire of a rumpled gray T-shirt and an even more rumpled pair of red boxer shorts, he shrugged his shoulders and decided that he wasn't going to shock Nancy with the outfit. After all, she had seen him in considerably less before.

He stumbled into the living room, squinting his eyes against the sudden brightness of the room, where someone had been thoughtful enough to open the blinds and let the morning sunlight stream in. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw his brother sitting on the couch, watching television. Nancy was nowhere in sight, and the door to her room was still closed.

_Good,_ Joe thought. _She needs the sleep._

"Morning, Frank," Joe mumbled, plopping down next to his brother on the couch. When Frank didn't respond, Joe grumbled under his breath, "And I thought I wasn't a morning person."

There was still no response.

Joe turned to look at his brother, about to snap at him for ignoring him. But the words died in his throat as he saw the look of frozen shock on his brother's face. Following Frank's gaze to the TV screen, Joe felt his own blood run cold.

There, on the television screen, larger than life and yet reduced to the size of a small electric box, was an image of the Peabody hotel. But it was not the Peabody hotel as Joe remembered it, from the case that they had solved in Memphis so long ago. The building's brick façade and the charming awnings that shaded the lower windows were all covered in black soot. Charred ashes rained from the sky to cover the sidewalk in front of the entrance below. As Joe watched, horror-stricken, an explosion erupted in front of his eyes, an aftershock to the much larger one that had obviously occurred before it. Two windows blew outwards from the impact, followed by a glaring ball of fire. Burning debris were pushed outward into the air with the force, suspended in mid-air as though time had frozen, before falling rapidly to the ground below, their charred shapes twisted beyond recognition. Through the boom of noise, people's screams could be heard in the background.

"Oh my God," Joe whispered.

Frank didn't respond. He wasn't capable. His throat had locked up on him the moment he had seen the images flash across the television screen.

"Oh my God."

The words were repeated, but it wasn't Joe who said them. The brothers whirled at the sound of Nancy's voice, and both leaped up from the sofa. She was standing behind the couch, her hair disheveled from sleep, shivering slightly in the tank top and flannel pajamas that she wore. Joe attempted to block the television screen with his body, but it was futile. Nancy simply stepped around him, her horror-filled gaze glued to the screen. As they all watched, the newscamera panned the area around the front of the hotel and to its sides. A police barrier had been erected, blockading what appeared to be a safe distance from the still occurring explosions. Beyond the barrier, ambulance lights flashed and fire truck sirens wailed. As the camera zoomed in, people could be seen sitting on the ground, covered in ash, faces smeared with blood and soot. Many were crying, while others sat dazed, still in shock. On the far right corner of the screen, a person could be seen laying on a stretcher. A paramedic came into view, and he pulled a sheet over the person's head, grief etched into his features. The chilling sight was interrupted by an anchorwoman appearing on the screen, her face somber.

"As you can see, the explosion that ripped through the famous Peabody Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee at 7 a.m. this morning has already claimed lives. Although we do not have an official count at this time, it is estimated that at least eight people have died from the explosion. Rescue personnel are attempting to reach the affected area now, but their efforts are being hampered by the fires still burning in the building. As they reach the original site of where the first explosion was believed to occur, on the eleventh floor of the hotel, it is expected that the death toll will rise as they locate people who were not able to escape. At this time, the cause of the explosion is still unknown. Reporting live, this is Amber Collins."

"My room was on the eleventh floor," Nancy whispered. "The room that the kidnappers had booked for me." She looked at Frank then, but she didn't see him. Her gaze simply looked right through him.

"They did this…because of me." She stumbled over the words. "All those people…hurt…dead…because of me."

"Nancy, no." Frank reached out to her, but she pulled back from his outstretched hand.

"Because of me," she repeated in a heart-breaking whisper, and turned and fled from the room.

Frank sank to the coffee table, his legs giving way under him. His head dropped into his hands, and his fingers gripped his hair tightly.

"Oh my God," he whispered.

Joe squeezed his brother's shoulder, but he had no idea what to say to him. His own stomach had yet to unclench after seeing that horrific news report, and after realizing that Nancy had nearly been one of the casualties. He could only imagine what his brother and Nancy might be feeling right now.

He sighed, dragging his hand through his curly blond hair. He went back into the bedroom and came out moments later, dressed in a more respectable attire of jeans and a gray V-neck sweater. Frank was still sitting where he had left him. Joe walked over to him and shook his shoulder slightly. Frank dragged his head up to look at him, the lines of his face tight with worry.

"I think it's time to get the FBI involved, Frank."

Frank stared at him blankly for a moment, then slowly nodded his head.

"You're right, Joe. This isn't just about us anymore. Innocent people are getting hurt, and we're not doing so hot on our own right now."

The last words were self-deprecating, and Joe gave his shoulder another bracing squeeze.

"We'll figure it out, Frank. We always do. Right now, I'm going to go to the Chicago FBI headquarters and drop off the note and the hotel reservations for fingerprinting. The FBI's already going to be involved in this," Joe said, looking at the television screen, which was still flashing through the devastating images. "We need to let them know our suspicions, and that this may not have been caused by foreign terrorists. While I'm there, I'll also give our director a call and catch him up on what's going on." Joe gave a wry smile. "Once he's finished yelling at me, I'm sure he'll help."

Frank returned the smile, but it was weak at best. Joe gave him a firm look. "Meanwhile, you check on Nancy. And make her talk. If she doesn't let it out soon, she's going to explode."

Frank paled, and Joe grimaced. "Bad choice of words. Really bad choice. But you know what I mean."

Frank nodded slowly and rose from the coffee table. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He thumped his brother on the back in a brotherly hug. "Thanks, Joe."

Joe was relieved to see a determined gleam replace the haunted look in his brother's eyes. Without another word, he flipped the television off, grabbed the Ziploc bag that contained the tainted papers from the desk and left the room.

----------------------------

The door to Nancy's room was open, but the bathroom door was closed. Frank leaned his forehead against it for a moment, trying to gather words that simply weren't there. On the other side of the door, he could hear small sounds which sounded terribly like retching. Those sounds were followed by the more distinct ones of sobbing. Frank knocked on the door softly -- words or no words, he wasn't leaving her alone.

"Nancy?" he called.

There was no reply.

"Nancy?" he tried again. "It's me, Frank. Please open up."

Again, there was no response, but it seemed that the sobs got slightly louder. Unable to wait any longer, he opened the door, which was thankfully unlocked.

Nancy was on the floor of the bathroom, her back braced against the cabinet under the sink. Her legs were pulled into her chest, and her arms were wrapped tightly around them. Her forehead rested against her knees, her face pressed hard against the bone. She was crying, huge, racking sobs that shook her slender frame with their force. The sound of them ripped at Frank's heart. In all the years that he had known her, he had never, ever seen her like this. She was always so determined, so spirited, even when things seemed at their bleakest. It was rare to ever see her cry, and never like this, as if she would shatter from the force of it.

Wordlessly, he walked over and knelt beside her. He slipped one arm behind her head, between her back and the cabinet. The other arm he slipped under the bend of her legs. Rising, he lifted her up from the floor into his arms, adjusting her more comfortably as he stood. Nancy didn't protest; she simply released her arms from her knees to wrap them around his neck, burying her face against his chest. He walked out into the living room, where he sat down on the sofa, cradling her on his lap. He didn't say anything; he just held her tightly pressed against his chest while the storm ran its course.

----------------------------

Nancy cried until she simply had no tears left. Her violent sobs slowed to small choking sounds, then to slight gasps, until she finally quieted, spent from her outburst. In the silence, she could hear Frank's steady heartbeat under her cheek, and she felt herself gradually begin to calm. His left hand was tracing soothing circles on her back, while his right one stroked her hair tenderly. She took a deep steadying breath, then spoke into his chest.

"I'm sorry."

He said nothing for a moment, just continued to hold her. Then, he pulled her away from him slightly and tipped her chin up so that she was looking at him. He gave her a mildly reproachful look.

"You know you have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Nan."

She laughed, but the sound held nothing but bitterness.

"Don't I?"

She took a deep breath, then continued. "I made somebody angry enough that they kidnapped my father, nearly blew up my two best friends, and now murdered God-knows how many people, just to get at me. And now, to top it all off, I've just gone and cried all over you."

His gaze was at once exasperated and sorrowful. "You can't blame yourself for this, Nancy. The only actions that you can be responsible for are your own, and everything that you just mentioned are not your actions. Well, except for the crying bit," he amended. "But that's certainly not something that you need to apologize for."

He tried to give her a light smile, but she was having none of it.

"How can you say that I'm not responsible?" she cried. "Fine, maybe I'm not the one who kidnapped my father, or going around blowing people up, but it's happening because of me. Of course I'm responsible!"

Frank grasped her shoulders and shook her slightly. "Stop it, Nancy! What's gotten into you? Since when do you blame yourself for the actions of madmen?"

"Since those madmen kidnapped my father and nearly killed my friends!" she retorted angrily. Then, suddenly, she slumped forward, burying her head against his chest, the fight gone out of her as suddenly as it had appeared. "Since innocent people were killed because I didn't do as I was told," she whispered brokenly.

"Oh, Nan," Frank murmured. He laid his cheek against the top of her head, rubbing it against her hair gently. "You don't know that. They were most likely planning on setting that bomb off anyway. And if you had gone, if you had been in your room like they had planned…" His voice cracked, and his arms tightened around her convulsively. It was moments before he could speak again.

"If something had happened to you, I don't know what I would have done," he finished brokenly.

"Frank…" Nancy pulled slightly away to look up at him, and the look in his warm brown eyes made her own throat lock up. She laid a comforting hand against his cheek and stroked it gently. "Oh Frank, I'm sorry. I didn't even think…"

He shook his head, silencing her. "It's okay, Nan." His smile was gentle. "It's a risk that we take every day. You know that as well as I do. And so do our families and loved ones. Bess and George don't blame you, Nan. They know the dangers associated with what you do, both for yourself and for them. And they still choose to be a part of your life."

"But what if they're wrong? What if that choice gets them killed one day? How could I ever live with that?"

Frank started to respond, then stopped when he realized that he had no easy answer. The logical side of him wanted to argue that it wouldn't be her fault, that it was still Bess and George's choice to make. But he knew it wasn't that simple. If something did happen to her loved ones, either directly or indirectly because of her, Nancy would blame herself. That was just the kind of person she was. And he wasn't sure what to say that would convince her otherwise.

Nancy's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Do you know, it's been almost a year since I've taken on a case or solved a mystery?" she said, almost conversationally. She felt, rather than saw, Frank's small jerk of surprise. Meeting his eyes, she gave him a small, bitter smile.

"It was right after Ned and I broke up. He predicted something like this would happen. He asked me what I would do if we started a family, and someone came after them because of my detective work." She gave another small, bitter laugh.

"I didn't have an answer for him then, and I definitely don't have one now."

Frank felt a small surge of anger towards the other man, which he ruthlessly squashed. Whether it was justified anger or irrational jealousy, neither would help Nancy at the moment. Instead, he replied calmly, "You would protect them."

"What?"

"Your family. You would protect them, with your life if that's what it took."

Frank's gaze was even on hers, and Nancy felt a small burst of warmth inside her at the unwavering faith in his voice. _He believes in me_, a small voice inside of her said. But a year's worth of self-doubt and disillusionment was not so simple to overcome.

"They wouldn't need protecting if I weren't who I am."

Frank grasped her shoulders tightly, the force in his voice echoing the force in his touch. "You're looking at this all wrong, Nancy. The world we live in is full of dangers, full of psychopaths and criminals. Whether or not you are who you are, your loved ones will always be exposed to them. But by being who you are, you help make this world a safer place for them. You put the bad guys away, and you fight for what's right."

Nancy jerked her shoulders free from his tight grasp. "Stop making me sound like a damn hero, Frank. I'm not. I'm just a woman, that's all. Just an ordinary woman."

"If you're just an ordinary woman, then I'm the queen of England," Frank muttered, growing frustrated. But he saw Nancy's lips twitch, ever so slightly, and a reluctant smile spread on his own face. "You're the farthest thing possible from an ordinary woman." His voice grew serious again, and he cupped his right hand gently against her cheek. "You're amazing, Nancy Drew. You're a loyal friend, a loving daughter, a brilliant detective, and an incredible woman. If anyone's ever tried to tell you otherwise, they're just plain wrong." _Like Ned,_ he finished silently, but he didn't say it aloud.

But he had forgotten about her uncanny ability to read his thoughts.

"You mean Ned," she said, and it wasn't a question.

Frank sighed deeply. "Yeah, I meant Ned." He gave her a look that was simultaneously apologetic and probing. "I promised myself I wasn't going to bring him up, Nan, but…"

"…I brought him up myself," Nancy finished for him.

"Yeah."

Now it was Nancy's turn to sigh. She tried to shift off Frank's lap, simply because she knew this conversation would be awkward enough without their seating arrangements, but Frank didn't loosen his arms from around her. Rather than make the situation more uncomfortable by struggling, she stilled and met his gaze.

"You want to know why we broke up."

To her surprise, Frank shook his head. "No. I told you before that I wouldn't ask you what happened, and I meant it. But what I do want to know is why you lost touch with me over the years, even before you and Ned broke up. You said that the break-up happened about a year ago, but you started drawing away from me long before then. Why?"

Nancy's breath caught in her throat. A part of her had hoped that Frank wouldn't have noticed the distance that she had gradually put between them over the years, but another part of her, the more honest part, knew that he was too intelligent and knew her too well not to. And she had dreaded the day that he would ask her why, because she was ashamed of the answer. That shame was reflected in her eyes, and her gaze dropped away from his. Frank caught the gesture and frowned.

"Nancy?" he probed gently. "Whatever it was, you can tell me. I promise you won't hurt my feelings. I just need to know. Was it something I did?"

At this, the guilt in her expression increased, and Frank knew that she was about to confirm what he had been suspecting for a long time now.

"Did it have something to do with Ned?" he guessed.

Agitated, Nancy rose to her feet, forcing Frank to release her. She paced several steps away, keeping her back to him. Finally, after Frank had become nearly positive that she wasn't going to respond, she spoke.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Frank felt a twist in his gut at the single word, but he didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue. He watched as her arms wrapped around her slender waist, her hands gripping her elbows tightly. Gathering her bearings, she turned around to face him, but she still did not meet his eyes.

"I was wrong, Frank, and as much as I hate to admit it, I was weak. Ned and I got into a really huge argument about you, right after I started college, and he told me that I had to choose between you and him." Against her will, tears filled her eyes as she finally looked at Frank. "I chose him, Frank. I'm so sorry." The tears spilled over and streamed silently down her cheeks. Despite the pain that her words had caused him, Frank rose to go to her, but she shook her head, stopping him.

"I know it was wrong. It was wrong of Ned to give me that ultimatum, and it was wrong of me to sacrifice a friendship that meant so much to me. But I was so afraid of losing him." She gave a bitter laugh. "Imagine that, Nancy Drew, girl detective, afraid of losing her boyfriend. It almost sounds pathetic in hindsight. But he had been my constant, the one steady thing in my life. No matter where my cases took me, what horrors I encountered, he was always there for me to come home to. I had built my dreams around him, envisioned us married, having a family. And I was so afraid of losing those dreams."

"Nan," Frank began, but she shook her head at him again. Now that she had started, she wanted to get it all out.

"In the end, it still wasn't enough. Even though I had pushed you away, Ned still resented my being a detective and the fact that I never seemed to have enough time for him. And he was right – I didn't. He tried to be understanding, tried not to get mad at me every time I had to cancel a date, or weekend plans, or a vacation because I was on a case. But I guess understanding has its limits. And in the end, he realized that his dreams didn't include being married to a detective who would put her career before him, who would endanger her family with her work. So he left."

Her gaze refocused on Frank, her eyes piercing.

"And then there was you."

"But I was already out of the picture." Frank tried hard to keep the bitterness from his voice, but he wasn't entirely successful.

"No, you weren't. I may have stopped seeing you, stopped solving cases with you, but Ned knew that we still occasionally stayed in touch. And even though my e-mails and phone calls may have seemed distant to you, Ned knew me too well. He knew that despite everything, my feelings for you never went away. When he broke up with me, he said that he almost regretted asking me to choose between you both, but that he only did it because he resented the connection that you and I have. In the end, though, he said that he couldn't break that bond, nor compete with it. And so he walked away."

"I never wanted to be the cause for your break-up, Nancy," Frank said quietly.

"You weren't. The only person responsible for my break-up with Ned was me. I couldn't be what he wanted. I was a detective, and he didn't want that. He broke up with me, but I felt responsible because it was my passion for investigating that drove him away. That's what made me stop taking on cases – my heart just wasn't in it anymore."

"You should have called me, Nancy. No matter how complicated our relationship is, I'm your friend. I would have been there for you."

Nancy's throat tightened. "I know," she said. "But I didn't trust myself to be around you. I didn't want to confirm Ned's suspicions, but a part of me knew that he was right about my feelings." Her voice broke at the end. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and forcing herself to look him in the eye. When she spoke, her voice was stronger.

"I was wrong, Frank. I never should have pushed you away. You've always been a good friend to me, and you deserved better than that. I wish that I could go back, that I could do things differently, but I can't. All I can do is tell you how sorry I am, and ask you to forgive me."

Frank stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "You don't need to ask me to forgive you, Nan. I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere. Neither is your passion for solving mysteries. Being a detective is in your blood. It's who you are. And loving someone means loving them for who they are, not despite of it. Ned was a fool if he couldn't understand that."

Nancy made a sound that could have been either a sob or a laugh, but it was muffled against his chest. "I missed you, Frank Hardy," she said quietly.

"I missed you too, Nan," Frank replied, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. Nancy pulled back in his arms slightly, her vivid blue eyes meeting his warm chocolate ones. Without a conscious thought on either of their parts, they drew together, their lips meeting gently. Nancy's fingers threaded through Frank's thick hair, and his hands tightened around her waist. Neither of them heard the hotel room door open, or the sound of a throat clearing. It was only when Joe's "Um, guys?" penetrated that they pulled apart. Nancy's cheeks flushed bright red, and she tried to pull away from Frank, but he didn't release her. He simply wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side, turning them in the direction of his brother. Joe couldn't help the broad smile that spread across his face, in direct contrast to the growing embarrassment on Nancy's and the utter calm on his brother's.

"Sorry, guys," Joe said, although his tone was anything but apologetic. "Normally, I would never think of breaking up a romantic moment like that, but I have news."

Nancy was still working on getting her voice back, so Frank was the one who responded, in a much more normal voice than he thought was possible given the circumstances.

"What is it, Joe? What did you find?"

"Krieger escaped from his Egyptian jail cell three weeks ago. The Egyptian police were never able to catch up with him, but I ran some of his known aliases through the FBI database and finally found him."

Frank felt Nancy tense beside him. "Where is he?" Nancy asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

Joe's expression turned grim. "He's back in the United States."

----------------------------

A/N: I hope this chapter helped make up a bit for the long wait. For the action buffs out there, I promise that the pace will definitely pick up in the next chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I was absolutely amazed by all the reviews that the last chapter got. Thank you so much to everyone for reviewing, and for being so understanding about the delay in that last update. Luckily, this one didn't take nearly as long, and as promised, the action has picked up again. So please review and be sure to let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: Any of the characters mentioned in this chapter from the books are not mine. Alas…**

----------------------------

Frank stiffened when he heard Joe's news. Like Nancy, a part of him had known what Joe was going to say, that Krieger was somehow out of jail and back in their lives. But suspecting it and confirming it were two different things. John Krieger was a man that they had first met as Jonathan Kimball, who had conned the Hardys into believing that he was a State Department agent and had them unwittingly smuggle a bomb into Egypt for him. Nancy and Bess had gotten dragged into the whole mess when Frank and Joe had asked them to pose as their wives, thinking that they were on an undercover operation for the State Department rather than the carrier mules for a terrorist plot. Ultimately, the detectives were able to foil Krieger's plan to assassinate a U.S. Senator, but along the way, they had learned that Krieger was the worst kind of criminal: power-hungry, ruthless, and a man determined to always get his way. Frank had watched him entomb a young girl alive – he knew that Krieger wouldn't hesitate to do much worse to their fathers. When he looked at his brother, and then down at Nancy, who was standing next to him frozen, he knew that they were thinking the same thing. Joe was the first to break the tense silence.

"Every intelligence agency already has an eye out for him. I alerted the FBI to our suspicions that he may have been behind the Peabody bombing this morning. Right now, John Krieger is a very wanted man."

Frank released Nancy and began pacing. "Krieger's not going to be that easy to find." He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. "We're talking about the guy who was able to dupe us into thinking he was a State Department agent and nearly blow up a U.S. Senator, and who has now somehow figured out how to escape from an Egyptian jail cell."

"Did Mahfouz escape too?" Nancy asked. Both brothers turned to look at her. "We know Krieger had an accomplice when he kidnapped our fathers, and since he worked with Mahfouz before…" She trailed off, unconsciously rubbing her wrists, remembering the ghost of injuries incurred when fighting with the hulking brute that Krieger had used to do his dirty work in Egypt. Frank caught the gesture and frowned.

"Mahfouz is still in jail. I checked," Joe replied. "Apparently loyalty is not one of Krieger's stronger suits."

"Neither is humanity," Frank muttered. Joe's gaze darkened, and Nancy gave an involuntary shudder. Given the impact of Joe's news, coupled with the intense moments she had shared with Frank just before, she felt the sudden need to be alone for a bit. She gave the brothers a forced smile. "I need to grab a shower. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Frank's eyes met hers, and in them was a message that she could clearly read.

_Later_, his look promised. She knew that she and Frank still had unresolved things to discuss, but she also knew that it would have to wait until they brought their fathers home safely. She returned Frank's gaze evenly.

_I'm not going anywhere_.

Despite everything, Frank smiled.

----------------------------

The slight smile stayed on his face even after Nancy left the room, not fading until Joe cleared his throat meaningfully. Frank braced himself for the inquisition, and Joe didn't disappoint him.

"So…" Joe drawled.

Frank just gave him a bland look. "Drop it, Joe. I'm not in the mood for this right now."

To his surprise, Joe did drop it. His brother's face instantly sobered. "You're right, Frank. Now's not the time. So I'll just say that I'm happy for you and Nancy."

"Thanks, Joe," Frank replied, surprise and relief evident in his voice.

Joe nodded, then averted his gaze from Frank's. He drew a deep breath, his shoulder blades tightening perceptibly.

"Do you think Dad's still alive, Frank?"

He didn't ask Frank if he thought their father was okay and unharmed – Joe may have been an optimist, but he was also a realist. And he knew what a man like John Krieger was capable of. He would not be kind to the fathers of the people that had put him away in prison.

Frank laid a firm hand on his brother's shoulder, causing Joe to meet his eyes again. He gave him a level look.

"I don't know, Joe. And that's the honest truth. But I do know that Dad's counting on us to find him and bring these men to justice. And I know that we're not going to let him down."

The determination in Frank's eyes brought out an answering response in Joe's own, and he covered Frank's hand with his. "You're right, Frank. And when I lay my hands on that bastard Krieger…"

"Joe…" Frank began warningly.

Joe gave him a small impish grin. "Right. _Cool down, Joe. Getting all hot-headed isn't going to get you anywhere_," Joe said, in such a perfect imitation of his brother's lectures that Frank couldn't help but grin. He lifted the hand from Joe's shoulder swiftly, cuffing his younger brother on the side of the head. Joe gave a playful yelp, and Frank chuckled. But he sobered again quickly.

"Did you learn anything else helpful from the FBI?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders. "Not much. All they know is that a man by the name of Jared Fugazzi landed at JFK airport in New York almost three weeks ago. Krieger's been known to use that alias before, so it raised a red flag on their system. Unfortunately, by the time they confirmed that Krieger had escaped from prison in Egypt and sent agents to the airport, he was long gone. They were able to spot a man matching his description on the security cameras, but all they can tell is that he got into a black executive car at passenger pick-up. The plates, of course, were stolen, and the windows were too dark to get an ID on the driver from the security footage."

"Fugazzi, huh? Pretty clever of him to use a name that's slang for 'fake'," Frank muttered disgustingly. "How did the Bureau take the news of Krieger's possible involvement in the Peabody bombing?"

Joe gave his brother a mild glare. "Yeah, I forgot to thank you for letting me deliver that particular piece of news. Let me tell you, Assistant Director Burr is not too happy with us at the moment. He didn't lay into me too hard since he has bigger problems on his hands at the moment, but I have a feeling we're in for it when we get back to DC."

Frank winced. "Sorry, bro. I can't imagine that was pleasant. Still, Krieger's going to be damned hard to find, and we can use all the help we can get."

Joe sighed. "Face it, Frank. Despite the fact that every agency is on the lookout for this man, we're still no closer to finding him than we were when we first got those phone calls telling us Dad had been kidnapped. They haven't even left us a note this time, or at least, not one that we've found yet."

Before Frank could respond, a chime from his laptop interrupted him. He had turned the computer on in the morning to check his e-mail, and had never shut it down after flipping on the television and seeing the news report about the Peabody bombing. Frank knew his computer the way a race car driver knew a beloved car -- every sound, every nuance was familiar to him. He didn't even have to look at the screen to know that an e-mail had arrived in his inbox. Not his work inbox, but a private one that only a few people knew of. One of those people was Michael, his friend at the Bureau who was working on getting the flight records for them for all chartered flights out of River Heights.

He looked at Joe and saw the same thought reflected in his brother's eyes. They both darted to the computer at the same time, nearly tripping over each other in the process.

----------------------------

Nancy came out of her room, toweling her hair dry, just in time to see the brothers' mad dash to the desk. Frank got there first, and leaned over the back of the chair to use the computer, not even bothering to sit down. Joe leaned over his shoulder anxiously.

Nancy stopped mid-rub, her hair still in the towel, staring at the brothers in confusion. "What's going on, guys?"

"Frank just got an e-mail," Joe murmured distractedly, not even bothering to look over at her. Seconds later, he gave a whoop of delight. "It's from Michael! He got us the flight records!"

Nancy dropped the towel in the middle of the floor, running over to join the brothers. She put a hand on each of their shoulders, craning her neck forward through the gap between their heads to look at the computer screen. There were seven people total who had taken a chartered flight from River Heights to New York within the time frame that they had specified to Michael, all pairs except for one individual passenger. Frank scrolled through the list of names slowly, so that they could read all of them carefully.

_Amber Valletta / Dr. Jason Andrews_

_Robin Damons_

_Jan Reckler / Dr. Oscar Wen_

_Hubert Long / Will Davies_

"Dammit," Nancy muttered softly. "There's no sign of Dad's name on here, nor John Krieger, or Jonathan Kimball, or a Jared Fugazzi. Joe, do you see any of Krieger's other aliases on here?"

Joe shook his head. "Not a single one."

"I guess it was too much to hope that it would be easy," Frank said, sighing in frustration. Nancy squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, even though her own stomach was still in knots. For a moment, she had felt such a spurt of anticipation when she heard that Michael's e-mail had arrived. She hadn't consciously admitted it to herself until now, but his e-mail was the one ray of hope that she had been holding onto, the one real lead that she thought might help them finally find their fathers. As she felt despair begin to grip her again, the sound of the telephone ringing pierced the silence that had fallen over the room. All three detectives visibly jolted at the sound and looked at each other, the same thought running through their heads: _Who could be calling them here?_

And the same answer followed that thought: _The kidnappers._

----------------------------

Joe was standing closest to the phone. He waited for the current ring to finish, then reached over and hit the speaker button so that they could all listen. The voice that came over the line was Krieger's; after having a name to put to the voice, there was no doubt left in any of the detectives' minds that it was him.

"Mr. and Mr. Hardy!" Krieger chuckled over his own greeting. "A very fine morning today, isn't it?"

Nancy frowned at the omission of her name. _Could it be he doesn't know that I wasn't in the explosion?_ She glanced at Frank, whose brows were drawn together in thought. He met her eyes, and his look plainly answered, _I don't know_.

Joe's voice was laced with venom when he responded. "I don't know, Krieger. It takes a pretty twisted person to consider a day when innocent people are blown to pieces a 'fine morning'."

Krieger laughed heartily. "Now, now, Joseph. I know that you must be mourning for your friend Ms. Drew, but there's no need to be hostile. After all, you and your brother are still alive. And I assure you, her death is no great loss to the world."

"You son of a bitch!" Frank lunged towards the phone, as if he could throttle the very life out of the other man through it. Joe and Nancy both jumped, startled by Frank's outburst. He gripped the desk tightly, his voice shaking with anger. "You bastard," he spat. "I swear to God, when I get my hands on you…"

Nancy wrapped a hand around Frank's forearm tightly, stopping the angry flow of his words. She could feel his muscles bunching under her hand as he fought for control. Krieger seized the pause in Frank's tirade to laugh again.

"So that's how it is, is it, Frank?" he asked chillingly. "Angry now that I've killed off your girlfriend? Don't worry, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. I'm sure that you'll find someone else who you'll be just as happy with. Of course, that is, if you live long enough for that." He laughed again, amusing himself with the thought.

"You're just a bundle of hilarity today, aren't you, Krieger?" Joe growled. "But rather than giving my brother advice on his love life, why don't you give us the next clue so that we can find our fathers and come kick your ass in person?"

Krieger's voice changed from amused to menacing. "If I had it my way, Hardy, you and your whole goddamn family would be dead already, instead of us playing these little games. But, unfortunately, I'm not the one making that call, or else you and your brother would have followed in Ms. Drew's explosive footsteps."

"Playing second fiddle to someone else, Krieger? I didn't think that was quite your style," Joe taunted. "You must be losing your touch, having to take orders from someone else."

"Shut up, cowboy, and listen up," Krieger snarled. "Lightning may never strike the same place twice, but Joseph Hardy does. That destructive force of nature is nothing compared to the destruction that you wreak upon those you love. You couldn't save the first one, but follow this clue, and you might actually get lucky the second time around. What is a namesake, after all, but a replacement?"

"What, no rhyming this time?" Joe asked mockingly.

The sound of a click as Krieger hung up was his only response.

"Well, then," Nancy said, breaking up the silence that followed. "I think it's a safe bet to say that the clue isn't directed at me, since according to Krieger, I'm already dead. She attempted a feeble smile and let go of her grip on Frank's arm. He caught her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Who knows, we might actually be able to use that to our advantage, Nan. You could turn out to be our secret weapon." He smiled at her, and then his expression turned serious once again. "Now as for this clue, any ideas, anyone?"

"From the sound of it, I'd say that it was directed at me," Joe said. Frank and Nancy nodded their heads in agreement. "He said something about the destruction that I wreak upon my loved ones. Dad would be the obvious answer to that, since he was apparently kidnapped because of this grudge that Krieger's got against us."

"Except that we have no idea where Dad is, so how would this clue even begin to tell us where to start looking?" Frank countered.

"Right," Nancy agreed. "And if he was referring to your Dad, then why only direct it at you, Joe? Krieger has just as much reason to hate Frank as you, and I would think he blames both of you equally, not to mention me."

"Also, what was that bit about a namesake being a replacement? That didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the clue," Frank pondered.

"He called me 'cowboy'," Joe murmured. He saw Frank look at him questioningly and met his brother's eyes, as a horrifying realization began to dawn on him. "He said that I couldn't save the first one, but I might be able to save the second one. There's two of them -- her _namesake_."

He saw the horror reflected in his brother's eyes as Frank reached the same conclusion that he had. "Oh my God," Frank whispered.

"What is it?" Nancy asked, looking back and forth between the brothers. "Who are there two of?"

"Iola," Joe whispered, his eyes fixing on Nancy, the terror in them burning bright.

Nancy's look was one of confusion. "But I thought Iola's…I mean, Iola was killed in an explosion a long time ago, right?"

Frank's grip on her hand tightened.

"Chet's daughter is also named Iola."

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	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone for all of your reviews! You know who you amazing, wonderful people are…you are definitely my inspiration and what keeps me motivated as a writer. As always, any feedback and thoughts are always appreciated and very welcome!**

**Disclaimer: One Super Mystery book…Four dollars. One Super Mystery book on eBay…Twenty dollars. Owning Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys…Priceless. And, considering that I can barely afford a Super Mystery on eBay, I definitely don't own Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, or any of the other characters from the books, for that matter. Oh well. At least there's always eBay!**

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Frank drove with a blind intensity, his mind miles away from the miles that stretched before them. He could still hear Krieger's voice on the phone reverberating through his brain, deliberately taunting them about his next victim, an innocent young girl who was the namesake of her father's beloved deceased sister, and who also happened to be Joe's beloved deceased girlfriend. There was no doubt in any of their minds that Krieger spoke of young Iola -- his deliberate mention of a namesake, and the fact that the clue was addressed to Joe, who had never truly gotten over the grief of the older Iola's death – was more than enough to convince them. After all, this was the kidnappers' modus operandi, to target one of their loved ones, someone important in their lives, in order to cause the detectives anxiety and pain. Hadn't that been one of the kidnappers' words to them in the warehouse, that they would have to trample over their own lives in order to get to their fathers? Frank glanced in the rearview mirror, his gaze alighting on Nancy, who sat looking out the window lost in her own thoughts. Nancy had already faced the pain of nearly losing her best friends, of shouldering the guilt of innocent lives being lost in an explosion that she could not stop. Now, it appeared that it was his and his brother's turn. Frank's throat tightened as he thought of their friend, who had already lost so much in his life. How could Chet bear it if he lost his young daughter as well?

The time between Krieger's phone call and their arrival at the Helena Airport was a vague blur; Frank could recall nothing but the desperation coursing through his veins as they all faced the reality that nothing, no mode of transportation would be fast enough to get them to Chet's place in time. They had struggled with the decision of whether or not to call Chet to warn him that his daughter's life was in danger, or to say nothing lest they worry him for no reason. In the end, it had been Nancy who had reluctantly pointed out, from her perch in the back seat of the SUV as Frank had frantically driven them to Chicago O'Hare airport, that so far, none of the kidnappers' threats had been idle. Calling Chet was a necessary precaution, and possibly their only chance of forestalling disaster. So, with dread in his eyes, Joe had tried to reach their old friend on his cell phone, only to get his voicemail, repeatedly. Boarding the plane from Chicago to Montana had forced him to stop, having to turn his cell phone off per aviation regulations. Frank looked over at his younger brother now, seated in the passenger seat beside him, as he hit the button to end yet another failed call with more force than was necessary.

"Still no luck?" Frank asked quietly.

"Where the hell can he be?" Joe asked, the anger in his voice a clear mask for the deeper terror that he was feeling. "I even tried the main house, but I keep getting a message saying that the phone has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

"Krieger and his partner may have cut the lines to Chet's place so that we can't warn him," Frank mused.

"What about his cell phone? Surely they don't have enough clout to take over the wireless companies now, do they?" Joe's voice was deliberately baiting, almost as if he was willing his brother to argue back so that the argument could take his mind off his helpless fear. But Frank wouldn't take the bait.

"I don't know, Joe," Frank said softly. And that was the end of the conversation.

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As Frank drove, the terrain around them slowly became more rugged as they left the main city of Helena and entered the surrounding wilderness. Mountains and tall trees formed a picturesque backdrop, the peaks capped with winter snow. Chet owned a ranch approximately fifty miles outside of Helena; it was this that Frank drove towards with as much speed as he felt he could safely manage, given that mountain roads were prone to surprises such as wildlife crossings and sharp turns. Finally, he saw the sign that indicated the turn-off for Chet's ranch, and slowing down, he turned into the long driveway. The road was not yet paved; Chet had bought the ranch only five years before, right after he had gotten married, and he was still in the process of making repairs and improvements to the property. Given that all those things took considerable finances, it was not surprising that the driveway was still in the state that it was in. The SUV bounced over the gravel gently, and despite the urgency of their situation, Frank was forced to drive slowly to avoid fishtailing the vehicle. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they approached the main house – a charming, two-story rustic building with a wide balcony surrounding the upper level and an inviting wooden front porch on the lower level complete with a porch swing and an old-fashioned rocking chair.

Before Frank could even bring the vehicle to a complete stop, Joe was out the door running up the porch steps. Frank quickly parked, and he and Nancy reached Joe just as he was knocking on the wood frame of the screen door. Seeing the front door was open and the living room beyond appeared to be empty, Joe tried the screen door and found it unlocked. He went in, Frank and Nancy following closely behind, and called out, "Chet?"

"Who's there?" an elderly female voice answered. Seconds later, a woman matching the voice appeared in the doorway leading from the kitchen, leisurely wiping her hands on her apron. Seeing the trio standing just inside the front door, she stopped abruptly.

"Who're you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Who are _you_?" Joe returned, with equal suspicion.

"Joe," Frank said warningly, and laid a part-restraining, part-comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. He could hear Nancy shift uncomfortably behind them. The woman before them was easily in her seventies, wearing a knee-length dress with a large floral pattern on it, a red apron, and her gray hair up in an austere bun on her head. Everything about her was matronly, and not in the least bit threatening. But Frank understood that his brother was on edge, and he couldn't blame him. Still, there was no point in upsetting the older woman.

"We're sorry, ma'am. It's just that we're good friends of Chet's, and we've never seen you here before. Is Chet here, by any chance?"

The woman's features relaxed slightly, though the scowl remained firmly on her face. "I'm Mr. Morton's housekeeper. Any business you have with him, you can discuss with me."

Joe made to move forward, a low growl emitting from his throat. Frank's firm grip stopped him, but he couldn't stop the menace in Joe's voice.

"Look, lady, we don't have time for this. We need to find Chet, and we need to find him now."

To his surprise, the woman stepped right up to him, her face level with his shoulders, but intimidating nonetheless. She drilled a finger into his chest. "No, you look here. I know all about young brats like you, who have no respect for their elders. Mr. Morton's a nice man, and he's raising a lovely, respectful daughter. He would never associate himself with the likes of you."

"It's because of his daughter that we're here!" Joe exploded. Next to him, Frank cringed as the woman's eyes widened in shock, and her expression grew even angrier. Before she could release the full brunt of her wrath on them, however, a male voice interrupted them.

"Mrs. Paulie, who's there?" The voice came from behind the housekeeper, in the direction of the mudroom at the back of the house, and all three detectives looked over the woman's shoulder at the man approaching them. If Nancy had ever had an image in her head of what a cowboy should look like, this would have been it, she realized. The man was young, in his twenties, tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, and with brown hair that had been bleached by the sun. The same sun had weathered his skin, giving him a certain rugged charm. He wore a western-style flannel shirt, jeans that were faded at the knees, and cowboy boots. His Stetson hat was gripped loosely in his right hand.

"Frank and Joe Hardy?" The man questioned, as he drew closer and was able to look at the brothers more closely. His face broke into a wide grin as he moved past the housekeeper to embrace first Joe, then Frank, in what Nancy could only term as "manly" hugs. "Well, I'll be damned. What brings ya'll here?" Just then, he caught a glimpse of Nancy out of the corner of his eye. He grinned abashedly and tipped an imaginary hat on his head toward her. "Pardon my language, ma'am. I didn't see you standing there behind these two men here. Although, how I managed to miss such a lovely lady is beyond me." He gave her a charming wink, and Nancy couldn't help the small smile that came to her face at the cowboy's flirtation.

Frank cleared his throat pointedly.

"Justin, we need to find Chet right away."

At the same time, Mrs. Paulie exclaimed, "You know these hooligans?"

Justin inclined his head back towards the housekeeper. "They're not hooligans, Mrs. Paulie, they're friends of Mr. Morton's." He turned back to Frank, all business after hearing the seriousness in Frank's voice. "Is something wrong?"

"There might be," Frank replied quietly. Justin looked from the grimness in Frank's eyes to the quiet desperation in Joe's. He nodded. "Follow me. I'll take you to him."

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The trio climbed back into their rental and waited for Justin to pull out in front of them. Seeing the red pick-up truck, Frank shifted into drive and started down the gravel road after Justin, following in the cloud of dust that the large truck kicked up. The road led further onto the ranch property, forking off at a small pond. Justin took the left fork, which was a crude dirt road, and Frank followed suit. Shortly thereafter, they could see another pick-up truck, this one black, parked in the distance in front of a white fence. Justin and Frank pulled up next to the black truck and everyone got out.

"Chet's down that way," Justin said, pointing to a dirt trail in the verdant grass that disappeared out of sight over a hill. "He was riding fence earlier and found a breach that he's workin' on fixing."

"Let's go," Joe said, and deftly jumped over the low fence. The other three followed suit, moving swiftly down the trail. On either side of them, cattle grazed lazily, ignoring the humans altogether as they crossed the terrain. Once over the hill, they could see Chet's outline in the distance, with two other ranch hands, all of whom were bent over a section of barbwire fence. As they drew closer, the men heard them approach and turned to see who was coming. Joe, in the lead, was able to see the look of pleased surprise that spread over his old friend's face at the sight of them. Joe's stomach clenched as he realized that he was about to wipe that look of pleasure right off Chet's face.

"Joe!" Chet exclaimed, jogging the last few steps to meet Joe midway and embracing his friend in a bear hug. "Frank!" He turned to bestow an equally tight hug on Frank. "And Nancy! It's been so long!" Releasing Frank, he grasped Nancy's hands warmly and kissed her cheek. "What are you guys doing here?"

Dread formed an even tighter ball in Joe's stomach. "Chet, where's Iola?" he asked carefully, trying his best to keep his tone neutral. But his friend had known him for too long and knew him too well.

"Why? What's happened? Is something wrong? Did something happen to her?"

Frank stepped forward and put a bracing hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We don't know anything for sure, Chet. But we have reason to think that she might be in danger."

Chet whirled on him so quickly that his hand lost its grip.

"What reason? How can you possibly know something about my daughter that I don't? And why the hell didn't you call me!"

This time it was Nancy who stepped forward, laying a comforting hand on Frank's forearm as she did so. She knew that Chet's agitation bothered him and Joe deeply, simply because they both felt responsible for him being involved in this mess. _I know that feeling all too well_, she thought bitterly. But right now, they had to get Chet calmed down so that they could figure out where Iola was and how to help her.

"We did try to call, Chet," she said softly. "But you weren't answering your cell phone. We got here as quickly as we could once we found out that Iola might be in danger. We can fill you in on all of the details later, but right now, the important thing is that we find Iola and make sure she's okay."

Chet took a deep, calming breath, though the others could visibly see the effort that it cost him to do so.

"You're right. Finding Iola is all that matters right now." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "It's quarter past two – she got out of pre-school half an hour ago. Mitch should be bringing her home any minute now."

"Who's Mitch?" Nancy asked.

"Mitch is my foreman and Iola's favorite person on this ranch besides me." Chet's lips curved upward in a small, fond smile. "She calls him Uncle Mitch and accepts no less than two piggyback rides from him a day. She's told me, in no uncertain terms, that she likes for her Uncle Mitch to pick her up from school." Chet's expression darkened. "If Iola's with him, I know she'll be safe. Mitch wouldn't let anything happen to her."

He turned to the two ranch hands who had been helping him with the fence. "You guys finish up here." Then he looked at the detectives and Justin.

"Let's head back to the main house so we can meet them when they get home."

As the four hurried back up the trail, no one voiced the possibility that they might not find Mitch and Iola when they got there.

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	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: First and foremost, I am so, so sorry that it's taken me so long to update. I have a job that sometimes requires me to travel a lot, and I've been on the road quite a bit lately. Between airports, hotels, and working late, it's been extremely hard finding the time to write. So I hope you all can forgive me for making you wait so long for this chapter. I can't make any promises on when the next one will be ready, just because of the randomness of my life, but I can promise that I won't forget about this story, no matter how crazy my life gets! **

**To everyone who reviewed, I'm extremely grateful for the feedback and I always look forward to receiving it. For those who have commented on my usage of some mature words, I'll forewarn you that there are a few more coming in this chapter…but, there is nothing in here that exceeds the T rating that's been given to this story – not in earlier chapters, this one, or any future ones. Just keep in mind that this story was rated T for a reason, and please read responsibly. And now, without further ado, on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Nancy, Frank, Joe, or Chet – if I did, it wouldn't take me nearly as long to update!**

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Mitch Gallagher was having a very bad day. He wasn't sure exactly how he knew this, since he couldn't quite think around the splitting pain in his head, but he knew this with a certainty that ran deep into his bones. At the moment, he was facedown on rough asphalt and his mouth tasted like he had swallowed some of said asphalt. His nose and jaw ached from where they had met the ground forcefully. His hands were scraped raw and stinging badly. All these facts combined to strengthen his conviction. This was a very bad day, indeed.

With a low groan, Mitch slowly raised himself from the asphalt, his hands curling into tight fists as the piercing pain seemed to spread from his head through his entire body and black dots swam before his eyes. As his fingers came in contact with his palm, he felt a foreign object in his right hand that his muzzy brain vaguely identified as paper. Before he could investigate the object, however, a sickening thought jolted through him, gracing him with a brief moment of vivid lucidity as he spun towards his truck that was parked at the side of the road, mere feet from where he had lain.

"Iola!"

The cry was ripped from his throat, and he raced towards the truck, though the sight of the empty cab had already left an equally empty feeling in his stomach. Still, he wrenched open the passenger door frantically, hoping against hope that the little girl might simply be pressed against the floorboards, playing an innocent, yet poorly timed game of hide-and-seek. But his heart already knew that wouldn't be the case, and his eyes confirmed it. Despite that, he searched everywhere: the cluttered bed of the truck, under the vehicle, the bushes on the side of the road. Finally, he had no choice but to admit the horrifying truth to himself.

Iola was gone.

Mitch felt despair claw at his gut and a horrible burning in his throat. As his hands clenched into tight fists, he remembered the piece of paper that he had felt there earlier. Realizing that he must have dropped it in his search for Iola, he scanned the ground frantically, his eyes alighting upon a folded piece of yellow notebook paper. He seized it and unfolded it with trembling hands, the words on the page swimming as his eyes struggled to focus. Finally, he was able to make out the handwritten words.

"Mr. Gallagher, please be so kind as to pass the following message along to Mr. Morton's two detective friends:

"_A young bud, not yet in bloom_

_Too tender yet to experience such doom_

_Her aunt before her, dead at such a young state_

_Alas, her niece now rushes to the same fate"_

Mitch's blood chilled as he read and re-read the words. The sound of a passing vehicle snapped him out of his stupor, and he ran towards his truck, jumping into the driver's seat. A wave of dizziness assailed him, but he resolutely gritted his teeth and turned the key into the ignition. He swung the truck onto the road, swerving wildly as his vision blurred again. But twenty years of driving experience and sheer determination helped him keep the truck on the road and relatively in his own lane, even at the speed that he was pushing the vehicle towards. As he drove, he reached his left hand into his coat pocket for his cell phone so that he could call the police and then Chet, in that order.

His coat pocket was empty. Mitch cursed loudly and pushed the gas pedal down harder while he mentally corrected himself.

This wasn't just a bad day, this was a downright shitty day.

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Joe couldn't quite describe what he felt when they reached the main house and there was no sign of any vehicles parked out front. His instinct had already told him that Mitch and Iola would not be there, but deep down, a part of him had hoped that they would be greeted by the sight of little Iola running out the door to greet her daddy and her Uncle Joe and Frank. However he felt, though, Joe knew it paled in comparison to how his friend was feeling at that moment. As he thought this, Chet spun around towards them and stated the obvious.

"They're not here."

Chet's face was pale, and panic was clearly starting to show in his eyes. Frank gave him the best reassuring smile that he could muster.

"Let's not panic yet. It's possible that Mitch just broke down by the side of the road or something. He might have called Mrs. Paulie to let her know."

Even as Frank said this, he knew that would not be the case. Like Joe, his gut told him that something had already happened, that something was already horribly wrong. But he knew panicking would not be productive right now.

The five headed into the house, Chet calling out for Mrs. Paulie. The housekeeper appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, in much a similar manner as she had when the Hardys and Nancy had first arrived. But where she had greeted them with suspicion, she greeted Chet with a warm smile.

"Mr. Morton, you're back early! I was just baking some cookies for when the little one gets home from school. I'm making chocolate chip, her favorite. Would you like one?"

Mrs. Paulie studiously ignored Frank, Nancy, and Joe, her earlier misgivings about them apparently not appeased by Justin's vouching for them. Nancy could see Justin roll his eyes at this out of the corner of her eye, but before he could comment on Mrs. Paulie's rudeness, Chet answered.

"Mrs. Paulie, have you heard from Mitch? He and Iola should have been back by now."

Mrs. Paulie glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Goodness, you're right! I completely lost track of time. I wonder where they are – I haven't heard from Mitch at all."

"I'm calling him," Chet stated firmly, and picked up the phone sitting on a small table in the living room. Joe didn't think it was possible, but his face paled even further.

"The line's dead."

"That would explain why I couldn't get through when I tried to call earlier," Joe said. "But that doesn't explain why I couldn't get through to you on your cell phone."

Mrs. Paulie cleared her throat. "I believe I might be able to answer that. Mr. Morton, I found your phone under the bed of little Iola's room when I was cleaning this morning. I meant to give it to you when you came home for lunch, but I completely forgot. It had kept ringing all morning, which I found rather irritating, so I finally started pushing buttons until it stopped."

Joe whirled on the housekeeper, his earlier frustration with her returning. "That was me calling! And it was important!"

"Joe." Chet laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't get mad at Mrs. Paulie. It's my fault – I tend to lose my cell phone about every other day in the most random places. You know me, I was never very good at keeping up with things." At this, he gave a small, wry smile, and Joe caught a glimpse of his old friend through the concerned father that now stood before him.

"Sorry, Chet," Joe murmured. "I didn't mean to blow up."

Mrs. Paulie quietly handed Chet his cell phone. He immediately began scrolling through his missed calls, but they were all from Joe. He then used the phone to try to call Mitch on his cell, only to have it ring a few times and then go to voicemail. He hung up, frustrated.

"Mitch isn't answering."

Silence ensued, as everyone contemplated where Mitch and Iola could be.

Then, the phone on the small table rang, shattering the silence.

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Chet stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock at the fact that the phone that had been dead moments earlier was now ringing. Frank's voice broke him out of his stupor after the second ring.

"Answer it, Chet."

Chet slowly picked up the receiver, bringing it to his ear gingerly.

"Hello?"

There was a low chuckle on the other end. "I'm sorry, Mr. Morton, but your friend Mr. Gallagher is not available to answer his phone right now. How may I assist you?"

"Who is this?" Chet asked, his voice shaking with a combination of fear and anger.

"Do you mean your friends the Hardys haven't made the proper introductions yet? Tsk, tsk. How impolite of them. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is John Krieger."

"That name means nothing to me," Chet ground out. "What's important to me are Mitch Gallagher and my daughter. Where are they, and what have you done with them?"

"Mr. Gallagher is just fine, although I imagine he must have quite the headache right now. As for your daughter, we have not harmed her."

Just as Chet started to breathe a shaky sigh of relief, the breath choked up in his lungs at Krieger's next word.

"Yet."

Chet's hand tightened around the receiver to the point of pain.

"She's just a little girl! Why are you doing this? Is it money? I don't have much, but I can pay you. Just tell me what you want!"

"I want the Hardys to suffer," Krieger growled. "I want them to watch the people that they love go through hell and know that they are the reason for it. I want them to know that they are responsible for destroying the lives of those they love."

Chet paled even further as his eyes darted up to the two brothers, who were unable to hear the other end of the conversation. Frank and Joe both had extremely concerned looks on their faces, and Chet felt his sense of friendship war with the blinding need to protect his daughter.

"Frank and Joe are my friends, but your fight is with them, not with my family. Leave my daughter out of this. She's only five years old, for God's sake!"

Krieger chucked, a low, menacing sound. "And that's why she's perfect."

His voice turned cold. "Listen up, Morton. You tell those friends of yours, who I'm sure are right there with you by now, that if they want you to ever see your daughter alive again, then they need to follow this next clue carefully."

As Krieger spoke, everyone watched Chet's eyes grow wide and his grip tighten even more painfully on the phone. After a few more seconds of tense silence in the room, Chet carefully replaced the receiver on the phone. He lifted his gaze to the group, and his friends saw the glazed look in his eyes.

"What is it, Chet? What did he say?" Frank demanded urgently.

"He wanted me to give you a clue. He said you have to follow it if I ever want to see Iola alive again," Chet replied slowly, his voice as dazed as the look upon his face.

"What was the clue?" Joe asked, simultaneously wanting to shake his friend to snap him out of his stupor and at the same time, afraid that any sudden movements might actually cause Chet's thin grip on reality to crack.

_Everything in this world comes with a price_

_So does your precious little daughter's life_

_For the Hardy boys this lesson must be shown_

_The time has come for them to take out a loan_

Chet spoke the words in an eerie monotone, and Nancy felt a chill run down her spine as he finished. She looked around at the other faces in the room. Justin and Mrs. Paulie looked torn between shock and confusion, Frank had a furrow between his brows that told her he was gravely concerned, and Joe looked utterly infuriated.

"That son of a…"

But before Joe could finish the expletive, the sound of a vehicle coming to an abrupt halt outside the house interrupted him. Chet was the first to move, and he was out the front door before any of the others, in time to see the huge cloud of dust that the black pickup truck had kicked up. As Chet ran down the porch steps, his friends close behind, Mitch staggered out of the truck, holding onto the open door for support. Just as Mitch tried to take a step forward, Chet reached his side and grabbed his arm, pulling it over his shoulder to support the older man. Joe quickly rushed to Mitch's other side, and together, the two men brought Mitch to the porch steps and helped him sit.

As Mitch regained his sense of equilibrium, Chet glanced back at the truck. He knew in his gut that his daughter was with the madman that had called him, but still, a part of him hoped that he would see her little face peeking through the windshield. No such luck, though. When he turned his head back to Mitch, he saw his foreman looking at him with an expression full of guilt and remorse.

"I lost her, Chet. I'm so sorry."

Chet dragged a hand through his hair, frustration and adrenaline rushing through every vein in his body.

"It's not your fault, Mitch. You're my friend and foreman, not her bodyguard."

"It is my fault!" Mitch argued vehemently. "I'm the one who pulled over when I saw the guy on the side of the road with his car's hood propped up. I'm the one who foolishly thought that I could help the guy out. I'm the one who was so oblivious that I got knocked over the head when I wasn't even looking. I was the one who was an absolute idiot," Mitch finished in frustration.

Frank moved over to stand in front of Mitch, entering his line of sight.

"These men are professionals. You couldn't have stopped them."

Mitch shot him a suspicious glare.

"And just who are you?"

"These are Frank and Joe Hardy, two of my old friends from Bayport. And this is their friend Nancy Drew." Chet made the introductions quickly.

Mitch's expression changed from suspicious to thoughtful.

"Are you two boys detectives, by any chance?"

Frank and Joe shot each other startled looks, then nodded at Mitch. Mitch reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Frank.

"This note was left on me after I was knocked me out. Whoever these men are, they wanted me to pass it along to you."

Everyone crowded around Frank as he read the short poem aloud. When he finished, Joe shook his head.

"This is the first time they've given us two clues, not just one. And both of them are vague. How are we supposed to know which one to follow?"

Nancy looked thoughtful. "Maybe we're supposed to follow them both," she suggested.

"It doesn't make sense," Frank disagreed. "The clue that they just gave Chet over the phone made it seem like they were leading us to a bank, or something to do with money. Krieger mentioned a loan, so that's a natural conclusion. But the only clear reference in this clue is a bloom, or flowers. What does a bank have to do with flowers?"

"I'll be damned," Justin muttered. He shot a quick sheepish glance at Nancy. "Pardon my language again, ma'am." Then his expression turned serious, and he directed his words to Chet.

"The Meyerson bank," Justin stated.

"My God, you're right," Chet breathed.

Justin nodded, excitement growing in his voice. "It makes sense. The Meyerson bank is really just part of a national bank chain of a different name, but it's housed in the Meyerson building. The building was named after George Meyerson when his wife made a huge donation and had a large garden built outside with a statue of her late husband in it. The garden is well-known and actually fairly famous locally because of its exquisite landscaping."

Frank nodded thoughtfully. "It fits. Although I don't know how they plan to sneak a young girl into a crowded bank."

"Today's Wednesday. The bank closes at noon on Wednesdays," Justin informed him.

"It's about 3:30 now, which means the bank would be empty. I think it's the best lead we've got," Nancy mused.

Joe jumped off the porch steps. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's go!"

"I'm going too," Chet stated firmly, rising from his crouched position beside Mitch.

"No," Frank said quickly, planting himself in front of his friend. The glare that Chet sent him was lethal, but Frank held his ground. "No, Chet," he repeated. "It's going to be dangerous, and I'm not going to risk your life too."

"She's my daughter," Chet ground out in a low voice. "I don't care if I have to die to protect her."

Joe stepped up next to his brother, and his eyes were filled with unspoken emotion.

"The same goes for me, Chet. And I don't want her to lose her father, either. She's already lost one parent – she shouldn't have to lose another."

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw Nancy start at Joe's words, but he didn't dare look at her. He knew that the conviction in Joe's voice had swayed Chet, and he wanted to drive the point home.

"Chet, someone needs to stay here and keep things together. Mitch needs medical attention, and the FBI needs to be contacted so that they know what's going on." Frank pulled out his wallet and handed Chet a business card. "Call that number and ask to speak with Assistant Director Burr. If the operator questions you, say that you're a friend of ours and have information on the fugitives that A.D. Burr's task force is after. That'll get you through."

Chet looked like he was about to argue, but Joe cut him off.

"Please, Chet. Trust us to take care of Iola and bring her home safely."

His voice cracked slightly on Iola's name, as old memories of another young girl who perished in an explosion assailed him. A long look passed between him and Chet, a look of shared pain and grief. Finally, Chet nodded and stepped back.

"Go, then. And hurry."

----------------------------

_HH_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I can't thank you guys enough for all of the reviews and encouraging comments. You guys are my inspiration and reading your reviews definitely adds fuel to my fire to finish this story. Every time I find myself hitting writer's block, I go back and read some of the amazingly insightful comments that people wrote, and it helps me get past the block. So thank you, and please keep letting me know what you think!**

**To my absolutely awesome, absolutely wonderful betas: Katie Janeway, TesubCalle, and msnancydrew – you guys rock. Thank you so much for always being there with feedback and support!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Nancy, Frank, Joe, or Chet. I'm just borrowing them, and I promise to return them in one piece…or at least I'll try.**

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At Chet's words, Frank and Joe breathed small, simultaneous sighs of relief. Justin stepped forward.

"I'll go with ya'll. It'll be a heckuva lot easier to take you to the bank than to try to tell ya'll how to get there."

Joe nodded. "Take your own truck. We'll follow you. Once we get there, you need to leave. We don't need to endanger any more people than absolutely necessary."

Justin opened his mouth to argue, but subsided at Joe's stern look. Frank leveled a steady gaze at Nancy.

"Nancy, I think you should stay behind with Chet and Mitch."

Nancy's eyes flashed, but before she could argue, Frank continued. "Look, I know I was being a bit over-protective before, but I promise that's not what this is about. I know you can handle yourself. It's just that the kidnappers think you're dead. We shouldn't risk them finding out that you're not by exposing you. What if they're watching the bank?"

"Do you honestly think it makes a difference at this point, Frank?" Nancy asked softly. Then her voice firmed. "Besides, every time we've followed a clue, Kreiger and his accomplice have been long gone. So they won't even know that I'm with you guys."

"Nancy," Frank began.

She stepped forward, resting a hand against Frank's cheek. "Look, I know that despite what you say, you do want to protect me. And I know that there's a slim chance that the kidnappers might figure out that I'm alive. But you were both there for me when Bess and George were in trouble. Now let me be there for you. You might need me out there."

Frank covered her hand with his own.

"I'll always need you, Nan," he said quietly. Then his expression turned rueful. "So I guess there's no chance that you're going to stay here?"

"Nope," she replied, smiling. "Now let's go."

----------------------------

Once it was decided that only Nancy, Frank, and Joe would be going to the bank, with Justin leading the way, they wasted no time in getting on the road. Joe drove, with Frank in the passenger seat and Nancy in the back of the cab. As they had been leaving, Mitch had tossed Joe his keys, mumbling that Iola's toys and schoolbag were in his truck, and that she might want them to play with when they found her. He stumbled slightly over the word 'when', but he refused to use the word 'if'. Joe had nodded in understanding and climbed into the truck, his brother and Nancy following wordlessly after Frank had grabbed his bag from their rental.

Justin had told them that it was approximately a twenty minute drive; by Joe's estimate, they had about another five minutes to go. Nancy broke the silence from the back seat.

"Joe, earlier when you said that you didn't want Iola to lose both parents, what did you mean?"

Joe glanced at his brother, then back at Nancy in the rearview mirror. He sighed.

"Chet's wife, Mary, died of cancer shortly after giving birth to Iola. The doctors found the cancer while she was pregnant, but she refused to receive any chemo treatments for it because she didn't want to harm the baby. Her oncologist had even gone so far as to suggest an abortion, telling her that she could get pregnant again, but Mary didn't want to hear it. She wanted to have her baby. By the time Iola was born, the cancer had spread too much. Six months later, she was gone."

Frank shook his head. "It tore Chet up inside. If he hadn't had Iola to care for, I don't know what would have happened to him. He and Mary met while they were in college, and from that point, they were inseparable. Mary was a farmer's daughter herself, and all they wanted was to graduate, get married, buy a farm of their own, and have lots and lots of children. It should have been simple, but instead, they lost it all."

Nancy's blue eyes glistened with tears. "That's so sad," she murmured.

"Yeah," Joe agreed softly. He cleared his throat. "Which is why we have to find Iola and bring her home safely. I can't imagine putting Chet through something like that ever again."

"We'll find her, little brother." Frank clapped Joe on the shoulder. "We'll find her."

But Nancy noticed that, as his voice trailed off, so did the confidence in it.

----------------------------

Minutes later, Joe pulled into a parking spot next to Justin's truck, and he, Frank, and Nancy immediately climbed out. He assumed that Justin would take off now as planned, but instead, the cowboy shut off the engine and climbed out of his own vehicle.

Joe gave his friend a reproachful look. "Justin, you need to get out of here." he stated.

"No way," Justin shook his head emphatically. "Chet's my friend too, and I care about Iola. I'm not leaving until I'm sure she's safe."

"You promised us you would leave after you led us here," Joe argued.

Justin's moss-green eyes flashed. "I promised nothing. You demanded that I would leave, and I just didn't respond. That's not the same thing as agreeing with you."

Joe opened his mouth to argue further, but Frank cut him off.

"Justin, what else is in this building?" There was a note of dread in Frank's voice. Joe glanced over at his brother, who was looking up at the building in front of them. He followed Frank's gaze and felt his stomach drop.

The building before them was a mixture of concrete and reflective glass, tastefully designed in a modern architectural style. And it was tall…very tall. With many floors. And many floors meant many people.

Justin looked puzzled. "I don't know for sure. I know there are a bunch of offices and such, and of course the bank, but to be honest with ya'll, I haven't really spent much time in this neck of the woods."

"Offices," Frank repeated softly, going pale. Nancy stepped forward, grasping Justin's forearm in a firm grip.

"Justin, listen to me. We do need your help. We need you to evacuate this building as quickly as possible. Take Joe's FBI badge with you – they'll listen to you when you show them that. Tell everyone they need to exit the building in an orderly fashion as quickly as possible due to a potential security threat. Don't tell them any more than that, or else they'll panic."

"How can I tell them any more than that when _I_ don't know any more than that?" Justin exclaimed. "What security threat?"

Nancy took a deep breath. "There's a good chance that there's a bomb in the building."

"A b…bomb?" Justin stuttered. "Oh my God." His face blanched. "Iola…"

Joe grabbed his other shoulder in a painfully tight grip. "Focus, Justin. Nancy's right, we do need your help. Take my badge and go." Joe thrust the item into his hand. "And when you get the building evacuated, you need to clear out of here too. Don't take any unnecessary risks. We know what we're doing – we've done this before. You have to trust us on this."

Justin nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll show ya'll where the bank is, then I'll make sure the building gets cleared out."

----------------------------

The bank was situated to the rear of the lobby, its darkened interior clearly indicating that it was closed for business. Justin waved them in that direction before heading for the elevators himself. As the trio approached the bank, they glanced around them. There was only one other business in the lobby, a florist shop that was also closed for the day. Sculptures were fashionably interspersed throughout the open area, some in glass cases and some standing of their own accord. Large ceramic flowerpots completed the décor. The lobby itself was eerily devoid of people – even though common sense told Nancy that most people didn't typically loiter around the lobby of an office building, she couldn't suppress a shudder at the emptiness. In her experience, most office buildings at least had a security desk in the lobby – this building didn't even seem to have that.

"Have we thought about how exactly we're going to break into a bank?" Joe asked, his voice hushed.

"It may be easier than we think," Frank replied slowly, his gaze sharpening on the slightly open glass door leading into the bank that was now before them. Nancy and Joe followed his gaze, and Joe let out a low whistle.

"I'll be damned. Krieger sure does want to make this easy for us, doesn't he?"

"Almost too easy, Joe," Nancy replied. "And how exactly did he and his accomplice manage to break into a bank themselves? Aren't banks supposed to be some of the most secure places in the world?"

Frank shook his head grimly. "I'm afraid I may have the answer to that too." He pointed to a large sign standing inside the bank, advertising low interest rates on home mortgages. Nancy's brow furrowed in confusion until she caught sight of a human hand, just barely visible on the floor behind the sign. She gasped as Frank yanked the door open, and the three detectives rushed in. Behind the mortgage sign lay a security guard sprawled on the floor, arms flailed out on either side of him. Frank dropped the bag he was carrying and crouched on the floor beside the prone figure, placing two fingers on the side of his neck. After a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's alive."

"No thanks to that huge lump on his head," Joe remarked, pointing. There was clearly a raised area on the man's head, and blood clotted his hair together and stained the carpet beneath him.

"These men are ruthless," Nancy muttered.

Joe spun around on his heel, the security guard no longer capturing his attention.

"Where can she be?" he asked frantically.

Frank rose smoothly to his feet, and the three fanned out, looking behind desks, signs, potted plants, and anything else large enough to conceal a small little girl. Joe tried the door that led behind the teller booths, but it was locked. He rattled the doorknob in frustration, then realizing it was futile, stepped back to eye the teller booths speculatively. Mentally sizing up the height of the counter, he braced his arms on the smooth surface and lifted himself up and over. As his feet hit the ground, so did his stomach.

"Frank! Nancy!" he called in a shaky voice. "I found her!"

Frank and Nancy quickly vaulted over the teller counter. Joe was crouched on the floor, kneeling over the prone form of a little girl whose blond hair was the only part of her that was visible around Joe's body. Nancy gasped in horror and Frank's fists clenched painfully.

"Is she…"

But Frank couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"She's alive," Joe said, his voice cracking. "She's unconscious, but she's alive." His gaze was riveted to the rise and fall of Iola's chest, as much to reassure himself of the truth of that statement as his inability to look away from the black box strapped to her chest. But staring at it would not make it go away, and time was precious.

"Frank…" Joe said, and moved aside to allow his brother and Nancy a full, uninterrupted view of the bomb.

"Oh my God," Nancy whispered. "Not again."

She had known, a part of her had known, that this was likely what they would find. Another bomb, another countdown threatening the life of a loved one and other innocent people. It was why she had asked Justin to evacuate the building, just in case. And yet, the reality of the sight of a young child with a bomb strapped to her small body nearly overwhelmed her.

As Frank leapt back over the counter to retrieve the bag that he had left by the security guard, Nancy dropped to her knees beside Joe.

"It looks similar to the one that was used on Bess and George. Do you think it could be the same thing?"

Joe frowned. "I can't tell for sure. It's definitely got the same red, black, and green wires, but something just feels different. I can't explain it."

"Never ignore a gut instinct," Frank reminded him, dropping back behind the counter. "First thing they taught us at Quantico." He knelt on the floor on the other side of Nancy and studied the bomb himself, while trying his best to ignore the large red numbers illuminated in the LED display.

_Nine minutes and forty-eight seconds. Damn._

Frank opened the duffel bag and pulled out his bomb kit. He unscrewed the faceplate on the bomb and carefully removed it. The explosives themselves were easy enough to identify, and he traced the wiring leading up to them. That wiring followed through to the cables that were wrapped around Iola's thin frame and led into the outside of the device. All three of them: the red one, the black one, and the green one.

_The green one. Damn!_

"Joe," Frank said quickly. "Get A.D. Burr on the phone now. Your gut instinct was right…and we're going to need all the help we can get with this."

As Joe dialed, Frank and Nancy's attention was drawn back to Iola when a small sound came from her. Looking down, they could see her eyes start to flutter, then slowly open and begin to focus. Frank placed a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder, effectively keeping her from moving.

"Iola, listen to me. It's Uncle Frank. You're safe, you're okay. But I need you to do something for me. I need you to be very, very still. Don't move at all, okay?"

Iola stared at him, her large brown eyes wide and frightened.

"Are the bad men gone?"

Frank's chest tightened painfully. "They're gone, baby," he whispered, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. "I promise I won't let them come near you again."

"I need Assistant Director Burr on the phone now! Tell him this is Special Agent Joe Hardy and that we have a situation!" Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Iola's eyes grown even wider at his harsh voice. He touched her leg lightly in reassurance, wishing desperately that he could just hold her and comfort her, but knowing that getting Burr on the phone was infinitely more important.

"Uncle Joe's here too?" Iola directed this question at Frank, and he nodded. Her gaze then shifted to Nancy.

"Who are you?"

Frank couldn't help a small smile at the characteristic directness of Iola's question. Those three words reassured him more than anything else could have – despite everything, she was okay.

_At least for now._

"I'm Nancy," Nancy replied quietly. "I'm a friend of your Uncle Joe and Frank."

"Assistant Director Burr." The relief was evident in Joe's voice. He paused to listen. "Yes sir, we asked Chet Morton to call you and inform you of the situation with his daughter. We've found her, sir. There is an incendiary device attached to her that we need your assistance in defusing. We need the FBI's most experienced technician on the phone, ASAP."

Joe covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "He's connecting me."

"Good," Frank replied. "Hey Nan, switch places with me." He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to. He wanted more direct access to the bomb, and he wanted her to sit closer to Iola's face and block her view of what he was doing. If she could distract the little girl in the process, that would be ideal.

As Joe and Frank communicated with the technician on the phone, describing the bomb to him, Nancy tried to shut out their voices and focus on Iola. The little girl's brown eyes were wide with fear, and even though she was following Frank's instructions and remaining unnaturally still, Nancy wasn't sure how long that would last.

"Is Uncle Mitch okay?"

The small voice startled Nancy, and her gaze focused intently on Iola. In hindsight, she should have realized that the girl might have seen Mitch get attacked. She did her best to give Iola a reassuring smile.

"He's fine, Iola. He's the one who helped us figure out where you are. He's at home now, safe with your daddy."

Iola's lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

"I want my Daddy."

"Oh sweetie," Nancy murmured. "We're working on that, okay? We just need you to stay calm and to stay as still as possible."

"Why?"

"Because your Uncle Joe and Frank are trying to make sure you're safe, and they need you to stay still so that they can do their job."

"Why?"

If it had been any other situation, Nancy might have laughed. Some might have found the repetitive questioning of a child annoying, but she clearly remembered pestering her father the exact same way when she was younger. There was no question she had always had an inquisitive mind since she was little, so she could hardly fault Iola for being the same way. The thought of her father added another weight to Nancy's already heavy heart, and she tried to shake the feeling away. She needed to keep a clear mind, especially now. She had to try to find a way to satisfy Iola's curiosity without alarming the little girl.

"Iola, those men that took you from Uncle Mitch, they were very bad men. They did something so that when you woke up, if you moved at all, it would hurt you and everyone around you. We don't want you to get hurt, which is why we need you to be very still, okay?"

"What did they do?"

She should have known that her abbreviated explanation wouldn't have stopped the questions. "It's complicated, honey. I promise I'll try to explain it to you when this is all over and you're home safely." _Only if you remember to ask,_ Nancy added silently. _Because this is one thing I wouldn't mind not having to explain._

Before Iola could continue her line of questioning, Nancy interjected with one of her own.

"So what did you do in school today, Iola?"

Iola blinked at the change of subject, but then her delicate blond brow furrowed in thought as she tried to remember.

"Today was finger-painting day. I love finger-painting. I made a cow, just like we have on the farm. Then Carl started picking on Christie. She's my best friend in the world, so I told him to stop. He poked me, so I pushed him. Then Mrs. Bell got mad, and she made both of us sit in time-out. But she still let me feed Mr. Pig, 'cuz today was my day to feed him."

Nancy couldn't help but smile at the summary of what sounded like a rather exciting day at pre-school. "And who is Mr. Pig?" she asked.

"Mr. Pig is our class guinea pig. He's really cute. He doesn't do much. He just runs around in his wheel all day. I asked Mrs. Bell if we could get a dog for the class, but I don't think she liked that idea. I asked Daddy if we could get a dog too, but he made the same face Mrs. Bell did, so I don't think he wants a dog either." At this, she pouted, and Nancy's smile grew a little wider. Before she could commiserate with Iola on the pet situation, though, Joe's voice made her smile disappear completely.

"What do you mean, we can't defuse it?"

Nancy turned to Frank in alarm. "What is he talking about?" she whispered, not wanting to alarm Iola. Without looking at the little girl, she placed a supportive hand on her shoulder and felt Iola's small muscles tense under her hand. Nancy's eyes locked with Frank's, and the grimness in his terrified her. His right hand was clenched in a fist around the tweezers from his bomb kit, and she was almost certain they were cutting into his hand. He turned back to look at the bomb, and Nancy followed his gaze. She could see where he had cut the casings of the red, black, and green cables and separated them, exposing the wires beneath. It looked almost exactly like the bomb at Bess and George's apartment had, except in this case the green wire was not made of a different alloy. Frank spoke, as if sensing her thoughts. "The green wire's not the same as last time. If we cut it, it'll go off. We tried to see if there's another way to defuse it, but from everything we've described to the tech, he doesn't think there's anything we can do. At least, not in the amount of time we have left." He and Nancy both looked at the LED display, which now read five minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Nancy's breath caught in her throat and she placed her free hand over Frank's clenched fist. "What are you saying, Frank?"

"I'm saying that we've got a problem."

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	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I can't believe it's almost been a year since I started writing this story. I can't thank everyone enough for sticking with me and this story for so long, and for the wonderful encouragement and support that you've given me. I still remember what it felt like when I first came to this fandom – the excitement that there were actually people out there who enjoyed these characters enough to write their own stories about them. But more importantly, I remember the welcome that I got when I posted the first chapter of my first story – _this _story – and the awe that I was now, in fact, considered a writer too. So thank you to everyone for welcoming me, supporting me, and encouraging me. As I've always said, your reviews mean a lot to me, whether it's a simple line urging me to update soon, or an entire paragraph about how evil I am with my cliffhangers. I always look forward to feedback, possibly even more than you guys look forward to my updates. So please, keep on reviewing, and I'll keep on writing, and together, we'll make it to the end of this story yet (and hopefully before another year passes, no less!)**

**Disclaimer: I think we all know the drill by now. Nancy, Frank, Joe – not mine. Justin and Iola – mine. 'Nuff said.**

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For not the first time, Frank found himself saying a silent prayer of thanks that they had convinced Chet not to come with them. The sight of Iola, her eyes wide with fear and a bomb the width of her chest strapped to her little body, had tendrils of nausea curling in the pit of Frank's stomach. He couldn't imagine how Chet would handle seeing his daughter like this.

And now, to be told by some faceless technician on the other end of a phone line that there was nothing they could do, nothing the FBI's extensive expertise could do, nothing _Frank_ himself could do to stop this bomb from exploding…it just wasn't acceptable. There had to be a way.

"There's got to be a way," Nancy said, echoing his thoughts. She had a look in her eyes that both Frank and Joe recognized instantly.

"What are you thinking, Nancy?" Joe asked, moving the cell phone away from his mouth slightly. He jumped in surprise as Agent Burr's angry voice came through the earphone.

"Nancy? Who the hell is Nancy?"

"Sir," Joe stammered. "I didn't realize you were still on the line."

"I conferenced the technician in rather than transferring you over. I want full involvement on this case. And that's irrelevant right now, so stop trying to change the subject."

"A.D. Burr," Joe began, but he was cut off.

"Dammit Hardy, are you telling me you got a civilian involved in all of this?"

"She's not exactly a civilian, sir," Joe hedged, glancing over at Nancy.

"There's no time for this, Joe," Frank muttered under his breath, looking nervously at the timer on the bomb, which now read four minutes and forty-four seconds. "Hang it up."

"Sir, I think the connection's breaking up. It's really staticky on my end. I didn't hear what you said. Sir? Sir?" And he disconnected the call.

"Add that to the list of things we're going to get our asses chewed out over," Joe said under his breath. Then he turned to Nancy, who was now running her hands over the wires leading into the bomb thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking, Nan?" Joe repeated.

"I know you guys said that this device is different from the one we found on Bess and George. But I keep thinking about how we found them, how their hands and legs were bound."

"Each one of the four cables was used to either tie their hands or ankles together. They were the same cables that were leading into the b…device," Frank said, catching himself before using the word "bomb" in front of Iola. They had all studiously avoided use of the word in front of her, and he didn't want to risk alarming her now.

Nancy nodded her head thoughtfully. "These cables are leading around Iola's back. I'm wondering…"

"…if they're tied together behind her!" Joe finished excitedly.

"Exactly," Nancy confirmed.

"It's a good thought," Frank mused. "I'm just afraid of moving her and accidentally pulling something loose."

"It's the only chance we have, Frank. We'll just have to be really careful."

Frank nodded reluctantly, looking over the bomb once more to make sure that nothing was loose that could trigger the bomb if they moved the small child. As he did that, Joe lifted his gaze from the bomb to Iola's face, only to see the little girl watching him silently. Once she saw that his attention was finally on her, she spoke.

"Hi, Uncle Joe," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Hi, sweetie," he whispered back. He had to clear his throat. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," she replied, her voice slightly stronger. "Can I move now?"

"I'm sorry, Iola, not yet." He gave her slender leg a reassuring squeeze. "But in a minute, your Uncle Frank, Nancy, and I are going to move you really slowly. We need you to be as still as a statue, though, and let us do the moving. Can you be a statue for us?"

Iola nodded, her voice dropping back to a whisper. "Okay."

"Joe, Nancy," Frank said, his voice no louder than Iola's and just as somber. "One of the wires is loose."

Dread was a dead weight in Joe's stomach as he looked at the wire that Frank was pointing to. Sure enough, the red wire that one of the cables split into was pulled slightly out of the bomb, and Joe could see the slack in the wire that was absent from all of the other wires. "Damn," Joe growled in frustration. Iola's eyes widened, and he gave her a sheepish look. "Darn. I meant darn."

"We still have to try," Nancy argued. "There isn't much time left." She gave a quick glance towards the timer, which now read three minutes and fifty-eight seconds.

"She's right," Joe agreed quietly. "We have no choice."

"You guys brace the wires, hold them in place, especially that red one. I'll turn Iola over slowly and take a look at the cables at her back." She looked at Frank, who still hadn't spoken.

"Frank?"

He lifted his eyes from the bomb to hers, and she could see his fear for Iola in them. He had the most extensive experience with bombs out of all of them, and the most first-hand knowledge of how absolutely devastating they could be. But he quickly gave himself a mental shake. Nancy was right, they had to try.

Frank carefully grasped the red wire between his thumb and index finger, using the remaining fingers of his right hand to brace the rest of the cable. He used his left hand to support the cable right below it as well. Following his lead, Joe did the same with the two other cables closest to him. Frank nodded at Nancy, giving her a quick, strained smile. "Let's do this."

Nancy rose to her feet, stepping around Joe and between Iola and the wall that she was against. She knelt again and touched Iola's arm lightly.

"Iola, I'm going to move you now. Be very still, okay?"

Iola jerked her head slightly, taking the instructions to heart and not even wanting to nod. Nancy grasped the girl's right arm with one hand and braced the other against Iola's stomach. Applying slight pressure, she lifted the girl's right side from the floor, enough to follow the line of the cables around to Iola's back. What she saw made her give a little cry of triumph.

"Good news?" Joe asked, hope creeping into his voice.

Nancy looked up at the brothers and nodded, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "These cables are tied together at the back into two separate knots. If I can get them unknotted, then we should be able to remove the entire unit from her."

"Surely it can't be that simple," Frank said doubtfully.

"Why not?" Joe argued. "The whole point of this stupid exercise is to string us along, to torment us while keeping us alive. And with the one at Bess and George's, Krieger told Bess how to defuse the thing. Why wouldn't he make this one equally simple?"

"I'm trying it," Nancy stated firmly. "You guys just keep a firm hold on those wires on your end." When neither argued further, she directed her attention to Iola.

"Iola, I'm going to let go of you. Do you think you can stay exactly like this on your own without moving?"

Iola jerked her head again quickly, and Nancy felt the child's small muscles tighten underneath her hands, supporting her slight weight on her own. Nancy released Iola slowly, then reached for the first of the two knots. As her fingers began working deftly, Frank said her name softly.

"Nancy."

"Yes?" she responded, without looking up from her task.

"Hurry," he whispered.

Her eyes jerked up quickly, saw the urgency in his. She could no longer see the LED display on the bomb, but he could. And she knew time was running out.

Without another second's pause, she returned to the task at hand. The cables were tied tightly, in a complicated twist that spoke of someone who had some level of familiarity with knot-tying. Nancy used her nails, her fingertips to begin pulling at the cables, trying to find some give in the first tangled knot. Finding a curl that was a little bit loose, she tugged at it and felt the cable begin to slip through the loop. Working with the now loose bit, she continued picking at the knot, unraveling it slowly but surely. As the two ends finally came apart, she allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief.

"Got the first one," she told the brothers, already moving on to the second knot.

"Way to go, Nancy," Joe cheered softly.

"How much time?" she asked without looking up, her fingers working nimbly.

"Two minutes and seventeen seconds," Frank responded. "You can do this, Nan."

"I know," she murmured, her teeth biting into her lower lip lightly as she encountered a particularly stubborn tangle. When it refused to yield to her gentle tugging, she applied more pressure. Suddenly, without warning, the end that she was pulling on came loose, and the force that she had applied accidentally caused her to yank on the wire. Hard.

She gasped, freezing as she braced for the wire to come loose from the bomb. An answering resistance caused her tense muscles to release. She lifted her eyes to look at Joe, whose face had gone white. His fingers almost felt numb against the cable that he held between them, in a grip that had gone abruptly tight when he felt Nancy's sudden pull.

"Sorry," Nancy whispered, her breath still caught in her lungs.

Joe attempted a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Nan. Crisis averted. Just keep going."

She nodded, and she began working on the last remnants of the knot. Her fingers, she noticed with some detachment, were no longer steady. They trembled slightly, as did her heartbeat, and she had no way to control either.

_Focus, Drew_, she chastised herself silently. Nerves or no nerves, Frank and Joe were counting on her. Iola was counting on her. Chet, in his own way, was counting on her. And letting any of them down was not an option.

Her fingers strengthened, became more sure of themselves. As the rubbery feeling left them, she focused on and undid the last snag of the knot. When the two cables finally came apart in her hands, she smiled triumphantly.

"Got it," she declared, her eyes brilliant with joy as she looked at the Hardys.

"Way to go, Nan," Frank murmured, returning her smile with a quick one of his own. As the cables had come loose, he had shifted his grip from the ends that he was holding to the device itself, bracing it so that it didn't simply slip off Iola's body to the ground, possibly detonating it.

"Okay, Joe, Nancy, let go of the cables that you're holding. I'm going to slowly move this away from Iola's body and set it down on the ground. Nobody moves until I give the go-ahead." He gave Iola a brief glance. "You okay, sweetie?" She gave the little head-jerk that they all now knew served as a nod, and Joe gave her a reassuring smile. "You're doing wonderful, Iola," he said, as Frank began gingerly moving the bomb. She gave Joe a trembling smile back, which he took as a good sign. Then he looked at the timer, which was down to one minute and eight seconds.

"Frank, hurry," he whispered urgently.

"I am," Frank muttered between clenched teeth. His heart raced, and tension had his shoulders in a death grip. But his hands were absolutely steady, and his slow movements were carefully controlled. As gently as humanly possible, he slipped the bomb completely away from Iola and laid it slowly, very slowly, on the floor. Only then did he allow himself a deep breath.

"Time to go," he declared, rising to his feet and lifting Iola with him. Joe and Nancy leapt over the teller booths first. Frank handed Iola over to his brother, then leapt over himself. They ran towards the front door, Joe in the lead with Iola in his arms, Frank and Nancy following closely behind. Frank broke stride only when they reached the prone security guard, bending over and lifting the man over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Nancy came to a halt beside him, helping Frank settle the man more securely. But the seconds that it took that were precious, and in those seconds, the bomb went off.

----------------------------

"Get down!" Frank yelled, dropping to his knees with the heavy weight of the security guard still over his shoulders. Ahead of him, he saw Joe do the same, bending his upper body over Iola her to shield her. The sound of the explosion was deafening, and Frank braced himself for a large impact. When none came, he darted a glance back and saw Nancy, who was slightly behind him, do the same. With a shock, he realized that the teller booths had actually shielded them from the majority of the horizontal impact of the bomb, though the booths themselves were now in pretty bad shape. The vertical impact had been large, though – there was a huge hole right above where the bomb had been, its edges blackened. Even as Frank watched, the hole widened, the compromised ceiling starting to collapse. Ceramic tiles were already raining down, shattering upon impact with the ground. What had his heart stopping, however, was the movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye.

"Nancy, no!"

Whether she couldn't hear him over the deafening noise of the destruction, or simply chose to ignore him, he didn't know. But she was completely on her feet now, quickly moving towards the teller booths, her gaze fixed on something that he couldn't see. Whatever it was, she bent down to pick it up, a glint of satisfaction lighting her eyes. Despite everything going on around them, Frank was focused on that look, curious to know what she had found. He was so focused that he didn't see the piece of ceiling that was falling, heading straight for Nancy. It was Joe's shout behind him that jerked his attention upward. Frank called out a warning shout of his own, but it was too late. With horror, he watched as the tile struck Nancy squarely on the head. She fell to the ground with the impact, her limbs going limp.

"Nancy!"

Frank didn't think, he just reacted. He rose to his feet, forgetting entirely that the security guard was still slung over his shoulders. He started to put the man down, but then he saw someone moving towards him. Thinking it was Joe, he turned, but was surprised to see that it was Justin instead. Without pause, Frank caught Justin's eye and jerked his head in Nancy's direction.

"It's Nancy!" he shouted. "She needs help!"

Wordlessly, Justin ran towards Nancy. Frank turned back to look at Joe, who looked down at Iola, then towards the front door of the bank. Frank nodded silently, and Joe took off with Iola, still shielding her with his body from the now heavily falling debris. But Frank did not follow – he wouldn't, not until he knew that Justin and Nancy were safe.

Within seconds, Justin was heading back towards him, Nancy held carefully in his arms. Frank could tell that she was still unconscious, but there was nothing he could do. He quickly turned towards the front door and ran, Justin following. Together, they made it out, and turned back in time to see a huge chunk of the ceiling fall, right where they had been standing moments before. But they didn't even risk pausing for a sigh of relief, lest the collapse spread outside of the bank. They ran through the lobby and out the front doors of the building, to where Joe was waiting with Iola. As they caught their breaths, Frank noticed the fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances surrounding the building. Hundreds of people were standing around, wearing expressions of concern, shock, or both. Frank turned around to face Justin.

"Thanks for coming back for us."

Justin grinned. "You didn't really expect me to just run on out here with everyone else now, did you? Especially when I knew ya'll were in trouble?"

His green eyes became shadowed with concern as he glanced down at Nancy, who was still limp in his arms. "We need to get these guys checked out."

Frank and Joe nodded, and Joe looked down at Iola, who was staring desolately up at him. "Sweetie, we're going to go see the doctor now and make sure you're okay."

Still silent, she simply nodded, tears sparkling on her eyelashes. Joe bent his head and kissed her forehead, and together, the group headed towards the waiting paramedics.

----------------------------


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I know Thanksgiving has already passed, but I'd still like to take a moment to say thanks. Thank you to all of the amazing reviewers out there for encouraging me and this story. Thank you to the supportive people in this fandom for demonstrating what community really means. And a special thank you to my friends and betas who are always ready with a word of advice, a listening ear, or simply a shoulder to lean on. I truly am thankful to be a part of such a wonderful group of people. **

**Disclaimer: In the spirit of thanks, I'd like to thank the writers for creating the amazing characters in the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys universe. I don't own any of these characters, but I'm always grateful for the opportunity to partake in their world.**

----------------------------

"You're lucky that you don't need stitches, Miss Drew," the paramedic stated, carefully cleaning the cut on her forehead. Nancy risked a quick glance at Frank, who had yet to leave her side or remove the scowl that was plastered on his face. Catching her look, the scowl turned into a glare, and he opened his mouth to dispense the lecture that had been building since he first saw her risk her life during the explosion. He was interrupted by a deep male voice, however.

"Agent Hardy?"

"One of them," Frank responded, sizing up the man that was approaching them. He appeared to be in his late thirties, of stocky build and height, with thinning brown hair and shrewd blue eyes. He wore a standard-issue navy FBI windbreaker, with the agency's letters displayed in bold yellow. As the agent came to a stop by them, Frank noticed the paramedic tactfully pack up his medical kit, give Nancy a friendly pat on the shoulder, and then move to a discreet distance away. Frank turned his attention back to his colleague.

"And you are?"

"Special Agent Ken Pennington, from the Helena field office. We received a call from Assistant Director Burr about an explosive in this building. It's about an hour out from our field office. We got here as fast as we could."

"It's okay. We had the situation under control."

Pennington gave a pointed look at the ruined building, then at Nancy with her bandaged forehead. "Yes, I can see that," he said dryly.

Nancy's blue eyes flashed at the agent's words. "Everyone was safely evacuated from the building, and there were no casualties. How could you call that anything but a success?"

Pennington turned his penetrating stare on her. "I'm sorry, miss, I didn't quite catch your name."

"Nancy. Nancy Drew."

"And how exactly did you acquire that injury on your head, Miss Drew?"

"I was struck by a ceiling tile in the explosion."

Pennington turned back to Frank, an eyebrow raised in question. "I thought all civilians had been evacuated from the building."

"Nancy has been helping me and my brother with this investigation. She was the one who was able to save the hostage, a small child, before this bomb went off."

"She's still a civilian, Hardy," Pennington snapped. "Once A.D. Burr hears of this…"

"A.D. Burr is already aware of Nancy's involvement," Frank said icily, without elaborating on the level of the director's awareness. "And I don't think interrogating Nancy right now is appropriate considering her injury and what she's just been through."

"It's okay, Frank," Nancy said, placing a calming hand on Frank's forearm, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Pennington. She gave the other agent a falsely bright smile. "Ask your questions, Agent Pennington."

"Agent Hardy said you were responsible for rescuing the hostage. How exactly did you do that?"

"After Agents Joe and Frank Hardy examined the bomb, they concluded that it couldn't be disabled. I suggested that there might be a way to remove the bomb from Iola – the little girl who was the hostage – without disabling it. When we investigated further, it turned out that the cables leading into the bomb were tied behind her back. I was able to undo the knots and remove the bomb from her body before it went off. Unfortunately, though, we weren't able to exit the bank entirely in time."

"And while you were in the bank, did you see anything that might indicate who was responsible for this? Something on the bomb, perhaps?"

Nancy shook her head. "No, I didn't see anything." Frank noticed that her right hand was still fisted, and that she didn't mention whatever it was that she had discovered just before she had been struck by the ceiling tile. He deliberately remained silent as well.

Pennington's eyes narrowed. Frank knew his original assessment was correct; this man didn't miss much. "Are you sure that's all, Miss Drew?"

"Yes," Nancy responded firmly. "Now, if you don't mind, Agent Pennington, my head is pounding and I'd really like to check on my friends."

Pennington looked at her for another moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Thank you for your cooperation." He walked off, joining a group of agents that were speaking to the local law enforcement.

Frank immediately turned to Nancy, giving her a penetrating gaze of his own. "Okay, Nan, spill it. What did you find that was so important that you just had to go back for, and that you didn't want to tell Pennington about?"

Nancy uncurled her fist, revealing a crumpled piece of paper.

"I haven't had a chance to really look at it yet. I just noticed something on the floor, and I thought it might be important. The rest of the bank's floor was spotless, so I figured the cleaning crew must have already gone through. If that's the case, then there's a good chance this belongs to the kidnappers, since they were the last ones in the bank."

Frank nodded. "It's a good thought." He leaned down to examine the paper more closely. "It looks like a business card."

"Pinnacle Car Rental," Nancy read aloud, smoothing the crumpled paper. She blew out a frustrated breath. "I wish I hadn't grabbed it the way I did. We might have been able to get fingerprints off of it."

Frank gave her a wry look. "You were kind of in the middle of an explosion. I think you can be forgiven for that lapse in judgment."

Nancy returned the look with a small smile. "At least it's something. I hope you're okay with me not showing it to Pennington. I don't want to turn it over until we have a chance to figure out what it is."

"I agree. And I'm not exactly a fan of Pennington right now," Frank said dryly. Pulling out his cell phone, he took the crumpled business card from Nancy and dialed the number listed. After a few moments, he shook his head. "They're not answering. The recording says it's past their business hours. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll call this Pinnacle place and see if Krieger or any of his aliases rented a car from them."

He handed the card back to her, then gave her a pointed look. "That still doesn't mean that I'm okay with you risking your life for this. You could have been seriously hurt."

"I'm fine, Frank." She tapped her head lightly with her knuckles. "I have a pretty hard head, remember?"

"Don't I know it," Frank muttered. Then he sighed in resignation and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "It just so happens I like that head of yours, Drew, so try to take better care of it, okay?"

Nancy smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. "I will."

----------------------------

They found Joe and Iola by another ambulance not too far away. Joe gave his brother and Nancy a brief nod of acknowledgement before returning his attention to Iola. The little girl was sitting on the stretcher, and a female paramedic was shining a penlight into her eyes. The bright light made Iola's eyes water, and she blinked them rapidly. The paramedic shut the light off instantly.

"Sorry, sweetie," she murmured apologetically.

Then the paramedic turned to Joe, her voice low. "I can't say for sure, but my guess is that she was drugged. Her pupils are slightly dilated, and from what you told me, drugging seems like a logical conclusion since she was unconscious when you found her. I didn't find any external injuries on her, and she doesn't seem to have any internal injuries either. That's good news. We just need to find out what she was drugged with. We'll need to take her to the hospital for that, run some tests."

"Why don't we try asking her what she remembers first?" Joe responded.

The paramedic gestured for him to go ahead, and Joe turned to Iola.

"Iola, do you remember anything from when the bad men first took you away from Uncle Mitch?"

Iola nodded, and this time the water that filled her eyes were tears. Joe enveloped her little hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It's okay, sweetie, you don't have to talk about it right now. I just need to know if the men gave you anything that made you sleepy."

Iola nodded again. "It was sweet," she whispered.

"They gave you something to eat?" the paramedic asked.

She shook her head. "No, they put something soft over my nose. It smelled sweet."

"Chloroform," Joe, Frank, and Nancy said in unison.

The paramedic gave them a wry glance. "I take it you three have had prior experience with this drug."

Joe gave her a fleeting grin. "First-hand experience, unfortunately."

The paramedic shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask. And I agree with your assessment, but I would still recommend that you take her to the hospital to get her checked out and make sure there's nothing else in her system. Because she's lucid, I'm not going to insist that she go in the ambulance. But I do highly recommend the tests."

Joe nodded. "We'll do that. Thank you so much for your help."

"No problem." She smiled at Iola, then helped the little girl down from the stretcher. "You all take care."

Joe took Iola's hand in his again, and together, the group walked over to the garden that Justin had raved about. The landscaping was immaculate, and in the center of the greenery and flowers stood a statue of an older, distinguished looking gentleman, just as Justin had described. Low bushes formed semi-circles behind and in front of the statue; interspersed between these were inviting stone benches. Adding vibrancy to the scene were multitudes of flowers of all different shapes and colors. The general air of the garden was peaceful, as if it was a place meant to invite one to simply sit down, breathe in the fresh air, and delve into one's own thoughts. As it was, the garden was a little haven in the midst of all the chaos that were around them, and it would give them a much-needed chance to talk and regroup.

Joe led Iola to one of the benches and sat her down. He crouched in front of her so they were eye-level. She met his gaze, and he was relieved to see that some of the fear had faded from her eyes.

"How are you feeling, Iola?"

"I'm okay." Her voice was still nearly a whisper, but it had lost some of its shakiness. Joe brushed a stray wisp of hair away from her face.

"I'm going to talk to your Uncle Frank and Nancy for a minute. Will you be okay? We're just going to be right over there." He pointed to a nearby bush, and Iola nodded bravely.

"I'll be fine, Uncle Joe. Daddy says I'm a big girl."

He smiled at her. "Your Daddy's right about that."

Rising to his feet again, he walked a little distance away, with Frank and Nancy following. As soon as they were out of earshot, Frank spoke.

"Did you call Chet?"

"First thing I did," Joe affirmed. "He was…relieved." It wasn't the word he was looking for, but Joe could find nothing that could encompass the emotion that had been in his friend's voice when he had told him that his daughter was alive and well. "I had to talk him out of coming out here – I told him it would be difficult to get through all of the police barricades and that we would bring Iola home as soon as we got her checked out."

"She needs to go to the hospital and get a more thorough examination."

"That's fine," Joe agreed. "We can call Chet and have him meet us there."

"She also needs to be questioned."

Now Joe glared at his brother. "Are you kidding me? After everything she's just been through?"

"Joe," Nancy said calmly. "We don't want to upset her either. But the fact is, she may know something that can help us. The kidnappers didn't leave us their usual clue this time, and you know that's not good."

"Iola's more important than a clue," Joe snapped.

"Joe," Frank interjected, his calm voice a contrast to Joe's agitated one. "You know Iola means as much to me as she does to you. But the bottom line is, the feds aren't going to let her leave until she's been questioned. We've already met the lead agent from the Helena field office, and trust me, you don't want him talking to her. It's better if we take her statement ourselves and at least spare her that."

Joe sighed. "Fine. But let me ask the questions. If we all start in on her at the same time, it might frighten her again."

Frank and Nancy nodded simultaneously.

"We'll just listen, Joe," Nancy assured him. "We won't say anything."

----------------------------

After nearly ten minutes of gentle yet probing questions from Joe, and mostly monosyllabic answers from Iola, Nancy sighed softly. Dusk had fallen, and with the loss of the sun, the cold mountain air had returned with chilling force. Joe had already bundled Iola up in his coat, and Nancy tucked her own closer around her as a light gust crept under the woolen material. There was a tightness in her chest that refused to go away. The lack of a new clue worried her deeply, and with it, the loss of the connection to her father, however ephemeral, cut at her.

"We're not getting anywhere with this, Frank," she whispered. "Iola hasn't been able to tell us anything that Mitch didn't, and obviously she doesn't remember anything that happened after she was drugged. And the poor thing is exhausted – we need to get her home."

Frank dragged his hand through his thick brown hair in frustration. "You're right. I just wish we had some answers."

Something caught Nancy's attention out of the corner of her eye. The security guard, who had been unconscious until now, was slowly being raised to a sitting position on his stretcher. His eyes were open.

"I think I may know how to get some of those answers. I'll be right back."

Frank followed the direction of her gaze, then her line of thought. "Go for it. We'll be right here."

She pulled the rental car agency's card from her pocket and handed it to him. "When you get a chance, let Joe know what we found." Frank nodded in agreement.

Nancy turned and made a beeline for the security guard. She wanted to talk to him before Pennington even noticed that the man was awake.

As she approached, the paramedic gave her a cursory glance before turning back to his patient.

"Can I help you, miss?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to your patient here, if that's okay."

"Are you a cop?" the paramedic asked suspiciously.

"No, but I was one of the people in the bank with your patient when the bomb went off."

The paramedic finally turned and gave her his full attention. After a moment's appraisal, he nodded.

"Go ahead. I need to get some more supplies anyway."

Nancy smiled her thanks, then turned to the guard, who had been watching the exchange speculatively. Though his skin was still rather ashen, his deep gray eyes were alert. Nancy estimated his age to be around sixty, but with the good physical shape that he was in and the shortage of gray in his thick black hair, he most likely often passed for fifty.

"Do I know you, young lady?"

"No, sir, you don't. When my friends and I found you, you were unconscious on the floor of the bank."

Instinctively, the guard touched his hand to the gauze bandage that was wrapped around his head. "Those bastards," he muttered. "And I'm a stupid old coot for falling for their trick."

"Trick?" Nancy prompted.

The guard eyed her shrewdly. "You still haven't told me who you are, and why you were in the bank."

"I'm Nancy Drew. My friends and I were searching for a little girl who had been kidnapped. We were led to believe she was in your bank. When we got there, we found you unconscious and a bomb strapped to the girl. Luckily, we were able to get both of you out in time. I was hoping you could fill in the blanks for me, and tell me what happened."

"Is the girl okay?"

Nancy nodded. "She is." A look of relief crossed the guard's face. He sighed deeply. "The men came up to the bank doors about halfway through my shift. One of them held a little girl in his arms, and even from a distance, I could tell something was wrong with her. When I came up to the door, the man holding her told me that she was really sick, and that he needed to use the phone in the bank to call 911. We have strict orders not to allow anyone into the bank after hours, but that little girl…well, she just looked so helpless. And the men both looked frantic. I figured, it'd be wrong not to help them out and let something happen to the little one. I have grandkids of my own; if one of them was in trouble, I'd want someone to do the same for them. So I opened the door. The men walked in, stepped behind me. Next thing I knew, sharp pain going through my head. Then I remember nothing till I woke up out here, with the world going to hell in a hand basket around me." He shook his head in disgust. "What is this damn world coming to when people start strapping bombs to our kids?"

"I don't know, sir," Nancy murmured softly. "But I do know that we're going to do our best to find those men, and to bring them to justice. And what you just told me certainly helps. Even if there are bad people like those men in the world, there are good ones like you who help balance them out." She covered one of his hands with her own. "Thank you."

Nancy started to walk away when the guard called out after her. "Nancy."

She turned and gave him an inquisitive look. "Yes?"

"My name's William. Will for short." He gave her a wry grin. "Figured you should know the name of the old coot you helped out."

Her eyes sparkled. "Iola." When he gave her an questioning look of his own, she returned his grin. "Figured you should know the name of the little girl you helped out."

As she turned away again, she could hear Will chuckling behind her.

----------------------------

Justin caught up to Nancy as she was making her way back to the garden. The police had interrogated him first, as Frank had refused to leave Nancy's side and Joe had refused to leave Iola's. Now Justin dragged a hand through his sun-bronzed hair, a familiar gesture that reminded her of Frank.

"I thought those questions would never end," he muttered.

Nancy gave him a sympathetic smile. "Interrogations are never fun. But you know the cops are just trying to cover every angle."

"I know." He sighed. "And if it helps them catch the men that did this, then they can interrogate me for hours for all I care." Anger tightened his handsome features. "But if I get my hands on those bastards first…"

Nancy laid a soothing hand on his arm. "Easy, cowboy," she said lightly. "I know how you feel, but anger isn't going to solve anything. And I know a little girl who's pretty eager to see her Uncle Justin right now – try to focus on that."

A reluctant smile appeared on his face. "You're right. How is she?"

"She's doing well. Frank and Joe are with her right now, trying to see if she remembers anything. We're going to take her to the hospital so they can run some more tests, but the paramedic said she seems to be fine."

This time his sigh was one of relief. "Thank God. If anything had happened to her…"

Nancy squeezed his arm in reassurance. "It didn't. And thanks to you, hundreds of other people are safe as well." She gave him a grateful smile. "Myself included."

A hint of red appeared on Justin's cheeks, and he shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets. "It was nothing, really."

"Don't brush it off," Nancy chided gently. "The fact that you came back for us, knowing full well what the dangers were – that took a lot of courage. And I'm grateful, because it meant that we all got out alive."

Embarrassment was plainly written on his face, but he covered it with a charming grin and deliberately deepened his drawl. "I couldn't let ya'll have all the fun now, could I? Besides, I never could resist helping a damsel in distress."

Nancy choked on a laugh. "I don't think I've ever been called that before in my life. Still, I appreciate the thought, and the gesture." She linked her arm through his good-naturedly. "Come on, let's go find my other two knights in shining armor then."

----------------------------

After seeing for himself that Iola was okay, Justin decided to head back to the ranch to check on Mitch while Frank, Nancy, and Joe took Iola to the hospital. Frank called Chet to let him know where they were headed, and all Chet said was that he would meet them there. Joe opted to sit in the back of the cab with Iola, while Frank drove and Nancy rode in the passenger seat beside him.

"Look, Iola, here are some of your toys and puzzle books." Joe waved a stuffed frog in the air enticingly. When he was sure that he had Iola's attention, he held the frog in front of his face so that it hid his features.

"Hi, Iola," he said, in his best impression of a froggie voice. "Won't you play with me? Ribbit. We sure could have lots of fun. Ribbit."

Iola giggled. "You're funny, Uncle Joe. Frogs don't talk!"

"Sure they do. What about Kermit?"

"Kermit is a puppet." She said this so matter-of-factly that Joe just blinked. Recovering quickly, though, he bopped her lightly on the head with the frog.

"Actually, if we're getting picky here, Kermit's really a muppet," he countered.

In the front seat, Frank laughed.

"It's always fun to watch Joe match wits with a five-year-old," he murmured to Nancy, just loud enough so that his brother could hear.

Joe glared at the back of his brother's head but refrained from commenting, given the fact that he had a little girl with very big ears seated right next to him. He turned back to Iola.

"Okay, if you don't want to play with the frog, what do you want to play with?"

She caught her lower lip with her teeth, appearing to ponder the question very seriously. After a thorough survey of all of her play things, she pointed to one of the puzzle books.

"That one!"

Joe picked up the book and flipped it open. "Boggle, huh?"

Iola nodded and handed him a crayon. "You're s'posed to help me figure out which way the letters go so they can spell words. We're learning spelling in school right now. Mrs. Bell says I'm real good at it. So Daddy bought me this book so I can pr…pr…prak…"

"Practice?" Joe supplied.

"Yup!" Iola agreed excitedly. "C'mon, Uncle Joe, let's Boggle!"

As Joe involved Iola with the popular game, Nancy took that opportunity to speak to Frank in a low voice.

"You've been upset since you called Chet. What did he say?"

Frank gave her a wry glance. "And here I thought I was hiding it well."

"This is me we're talking about, Frank. I have superior powers of observation, remember?" She gave him a sassy grin and was rewarded when the corner of his mouth lifted a little.

"Or you just know me really, really well."

"Well, that too," Nancy replied, her voice a little softer.

Frank turned his head to give her another small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I've never heard Chet sound that distant before, Nan," he said, keeping his voice low so he couldn't be heard in the back seat. "He just didn't sound like himself."

"He's been through a lot today, Frank," Nancy replied, her voice equally low. "He's probably just still trying to process it all."

"I don't know. Maybe," Frank said, but he sounded doubtful. He started to say something else but stopped as the hospital finally appeared, true to Justin's directions.

"We're here," he said instead.

----------------------------

Chet was already waiting outside the doors of the Emergency Room when they arrived. As soon as Iola was out of the truck and saw her father, she was running towards his open arms. Chet caught her halfway, lifting her in the air and squeezing her small body to him wordlessly. His shoulders shook, and moisture seeped out of the edges of his tightly shut eyes. When Iola pulled away from him slightly, she caught sight of the tears.

"Daddy, why are you crying?"

"They're happy tears, honey. I'm just so happy to see you."

Iola patted his face with her small hand. "Don't cry, Daddy. I'm okay. Diane said so."

"Who's Diane?"

"The paramedic," Joe supplied. Chet barely bothered with a glance at him before turning towards the entrance to the hospital. "I still want to get her checked out," he said over his shoulder. Behind him, Joe struggled to keep the hurt from showing on his face. Frank gave Nancy a concerned look before they both followed Joe and Chet into the ER.

----------------------------

Chet's behavior towards them had not improved when they arrived back at the ranch, despite the fact that Iola had received a clean bill of health from the ER doctor. Mitch and Justin had met them at the door of the main house, and Chet had been animated in his responses to them. But he had barely said a word to the Hardys, except when it was absolutely necessary. After bidding Justin and Mitch good night and finally walking into the house, Chet started to head straight for Iola's room, with Iola sleeping safe and sound in his arms. However, at the last minute, he seemed to realize that there were still some basic civilities to be seen to. As Frank, Nancy, and Joe paused awkwardly in the living room, Chet turned to face them at the foot of the stairs.

"I had Mrs. Paulie prepare your usual rooms for you. Nancy, your room is next to Frank's. I'm taking Iola up to bed." Chet headed up the stairs without another word. Frank felt the sting in his friend's tone. Looking at Joe, he knew that what Chet had said, and more importantly, what he hadn't said, was hurting his brother deeply.

"Well, at least he didn't turn us out into the night," Joe murmured.

"You know Chet would never do that, Joe," Frank said.

"I wouldn't have blamed him."

"Joe," Frank began, but Joe shook off the comforting hand that his brother had laid on his shoulder. "Don't, Frank. I'm going to bed."

He went up the stairs without looking back. At the top of the staircase, they heard a door open, then close softly.

Wordlessly, Nancy slipped her hand into Frank's. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"I don't know what to say to either of them."

"Everything will look better in the morning, Frank," she said softly. "It always does."

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	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Happy belated holidays, everyone! I'm sorry it's taken me awhile to get this chapter out – hopefully the length makes up for the delay. Also, I know quite a few people had questions about Chet's actions in the last chapter – this new chapter should clear some of the confusion up, I hope. And as always, thank you all so much for your continued reviews and support – I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! **

**Disclaimer: Apparently fictional characters are not legitimate items for a Christmas list, because Santa definitely left me hanging again this year. Thus, Nancy, Joe, Frank, Chet, and Krieger are not mine. Little Iola is – I'm just borrowing her name.**

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Frank found that, contrary to Nancy's words, everything did not look better in the morning. In fact, in his case, it looked decidedly worse. The lead on the Pinnacle Car Agency had been a dead end. After nearly an hour on the phone, some fine finagling, veiled threats, and even a casual mention of a friend in the IRS who audited small companies, he had managed to convince the agency's manager to cooperate. And by cooperate, it meant that the manager had agreed to allow Frank to run names by him, and he would either confirm or deny if an individual with such a name had rented a car from his agency in the past week. On no uncertain terms, the manager had declared, would he send Frank a renter's manifest without a warrant or subpoena. So Frank had painstakingly run through the list of Krieger's aliases with the manager, seventeen to be exact, only to be told that no one with any of those names had rented a car from the Pinnacle Car Rental recently. Frank was frustrated, angry, worried, and, as a sudden grumble in his stomach reminded him, hungry. With everything that had happened the day before, dinner hadn't even been a consideration, much less a reality. Sighing, Frank tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans and headed downstairs.

As he approached the swinging door of the kitchen, he heard his brother's voice just inside, saying good morning to someone. A second later, Chet repeated the greeting, his voice significantly cooler than Joe's. Frank paused at the doorway, not wanting to intrude. Sure enough, a moment later Joe spoke, his voice hesitant.

"Chet, I…"

"Joe, I really don't want to talk about this right now."

There was no response from Joe. Frank found out why as the door suddenly swung out, nearly hitting him in the face. His brother walked past him, barely giving him a sideways glance, hurt etched into his features. Frank wanted to reach out to him, say something, but Joe was already walking out of the front door. Knowing his brother likely wouldn't go too far without him, Frank squared his shoulders and walked into the kitchen instead. Chet was seated at the small breakfast table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of him. There was a folded newspaper lying next to the bowl, apparently untouched. His appetite now forgotten, Frank sat down in the chair across from Chet.

"Hey."

"Hey." There was no change in Chet's tone from when he had spoken to Joe. As Frank studied his friend, he was suddenly struck by the fact that he looked _older_. Life had carved worry lines into Chet's otherwise youthful face, and there was a maturity in his eyes that had not been there before. After a moment, Frank realized that he had let the silence stretch to the point of awkwardness.

"I heard you and Joe talking a minute ago."

Chet raised his eyebrows. "Then you would know that there wasn't much to talk about."

Frank winced inwardly at the harshness in his friend's tone, but he maintained a neutral expression, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly.

"Look, I get that you're pissed. Even if I weren't a detective, it would be blatantly obvious. You probably even hate our guts right now."

Chet cut him off, his voice low with fury. "My five-year old daughter nearly got blown to pieces yesterday. She was kidnapped, drugged, and had a bomb strapped to her chest. So yeah, you might say I'm a little pissed."

Chet pushed back from the table jerkily, nearly knocking his chair over backwards. He laid his palms flat on the table and leaned in.

"Iola woke up three times last night, screaming from her nightmares. And that's not counting the number of times I woke up from my own. I didn't send my little girl to school this morning, not because she wasn't feeling well, but because I can't bear the thought of her walking out the door unprotected anymore."

His voice had risen as he spoke, and now he paused and drew in a ragged breath. Visibly reining his temper in, Chet dragged a hand through his hair.

"I don't think 'pissed' covers it, Frank."

Frank felt like he had been punched in the gut, hard. He drew in a ragged breath of his own.

"I was going to say that I'm sorry. But I don't think that covers it either."

Frank slowly rose from the table. "I'll go get my things. We'll be gone within the hour."

He was nearly at the kitchen door when Chet spoke.

"Wait."

Frank turned, his face expressionless.

"Yeah?"

Chet blew out his breath in a heavy puff. "We've been friends too damn long for you to leave like this. And if nothing else, you sure as hell owe me an explanation of what's going on, and why these men decided to kidnap my daughter."

Frank hesitated for a moment, his eyes conflicted. Finally he sighed and took a few steps back into the kitchen. Rather than return to his original seat at the table, he leaned against the kitchen island instead.

"These men kidnapped my father," Frank stated without preamble.

Chet sat back down in his chair heavily. "Oh boy." The anger on his face had already begun to morph into worry. "Your dad," he began, but Frank cut him off.

"They have Nancy's father too." And as shock settled in on his old friend's face, Frank proceeded to relate the whole tale.

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Nancy paused outside the kitchen door, hearing the deep sound of Frank's voice. She wasn't able to make out the words, but she knew his voice well enough to know that whatever he was saying, it was serious. Instinct had her backing away from the door, not wanting to disturb him. She had slept restlessly through the night and had only been able to fall into a deeper slumber early in the morning, causing her to wake up later than she had intended. Upon awaking, she had checked both Frank and Joe's rooms, only to find that they were both already up and gone. Joe's empty room had been especially mortifying, since she knew that if he was already up, it was definitely late. Iola had been the only one still sleeping, her little body tossing restlessly under the covers. Nancy had debated going to the girl to try to soothe her in some way, but she hadn't wanted to risk waking her.

After leaving the kitchen door behind, Nancy ventured into the living room, finding it empty. She could hear noises coming from the back of the house, presumably from the mudroom, and after pausing for a second, she realized that it was the sound of someone doing laundry. Not really cherishing the thought of an encounter with the dour Mrs. Paulie first thing in the morning, Nancy headed in the opposite direction towards the front door. Out on the porch, she stopped as she caught sight of curly blond hair. Joe was sitting on the wide swing, not moving at all. His posture was rigid, and his left hand was clenched into a tight fist and resting on his thigh. His blue eyes were fierce, staring into the distance at a sight that only he could see. Nancy hesitated, debating the merits of an encounter with Mrs. Paulie. But it was the lines of pain around Joe's mouth that decided her. She crossed the porch and sat down next to him, setting the swing gently in motion.

Joe didn't turn to look at her, didn't even acknowledge her presence. He just continued his fixed stare into the blue horizon.

Nancy sat there in silence beside him for a few moments before finally speaking. "None of this is your fault, you know." Her voice was quiet, but matter-of-fact.

Joe's hand tightened further, and he said nothing. Silently, Nancy laid a hand over his fist, hoping to cause his fingers to relax. They did, slightly, and she turned his hand over under hers. But instead of her palm meeting his, it encountered cold metal.

"Oh, Joe," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

In his hand were melted keys, the metal once fused together with intense heat, but now so lifelessly cold. The force with which Joe had clenched them had dug red marks into his hand, and Nancy ran her fingertips over these marks lightly, knowing that nothing would ease the pain.

"It's not your fault," she repeated, her voice still a whisper. "It wasn't then, and it's not now."

Joe abruptly removed his hand from hers, turning his head to look at her for the first time.

"You don't know anything about it," he said fiercely.

No, Nancy thought, she didn't. The keys that Joe held had belonged to his girlfriend, Chet's sister. The girl who had been the first Iola, who had gifted that name to a niece she had not lived long enough to see. The girl whom Joe, the eternal flirt, had loved deeply and truly. The girl who had died in a car explosion intended for Joe and Frank, her keys the only piece of her left behind for Joe to hold onto. No, she couldn't truly understand that kind of pain. But she could understand the guilt.

"It's true that I've never experienced that kind of loss. The only person in my life close to me who's died is my mother, and I was too young then to really understand what grief meant.

"But I know what it is to blame yourself for something you couldn't control. Eleven people died in an explosion because I couldn't follow some madman's orders. My two best friends were nearly blown to pieces because of me.

"Frank said that I shouldn't blame myself, that it wasn't my fault. That the only people to blame were the men who committed these acts."

Nancy paused for a moment, then met Joe's eyes levelly. "But I don't think that's entirely true either. The fact is, the people who we love are at risk because of what we do, who we are. As long as there are crazy psychopaths out there, that's not going to change. But if we let them get away with this, if we let them commit these acts against our friends, our family, and on top of that, we blame ourselves for it – then they've won. We've let them win."

Joe sighed, his eyes unbearably sad. "It's not that easy, Nan."

"I know it's not," she replied softly.

Joe looked down at the fused keys in his hand. "I've carried these keys around with me for six years now. I thought I would have stopped by now, but I can't. I failed her that day, Nan. I sent her out to the car, because I was too busy to go myself. She was mad at me when she went, and I just figured that we'd make up later. But I never got the chance. I never got the chance to tell her how much I cared about her."

"No, but you got a different chance yesterday. You saved little Iola's life, you kept her from the same fate as her aunt. That counts for something, Joe."

Joe sighed. "I don't think Chet sees it that way, though."

Nancy sighed too, leaning her head against his shoulder companionably. Joe lifted his arm so that she could settle in more comfortably.

"Well, like you said, Joe, it's not that easy."

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There was silence in the kitchen after Frank finished talking. Chet's face, normally so expressive, was unreadable. After a few more seconds, Frank pushed himself away from the island.

"So now you know," he said neutrally. He made to move towards the kitchen door, but once again, Chet stopped him.

"Dammit Frank, you can't just lay all that on me and then leave. You tell me that your father's been kidnapped, Nancy's father's been kidnapped, Nancy's best friends were nearly killed, and now they're after my family. I can't process all of that yet."

"Chet, you don't have to process anything. You're pissed at me and Joe, and rightly so. And now you know what's been going on. The sooner we get out of here and leave you and your family alone, the better."

Chet shook his head, rising to his feet. "No. No, that's not right." He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. "You and Joe are my best friends. And this…all of this…mess that you've been dealing with…"

But then he glanced at the door, as if he could see through it and upstairs to the little girl safely asleep in her bed. "But Iola…my daughter…"

Frank interrupted him, disturbed by Chet's inner struggle. "Chet, I get it. You don't need to explain. After everything that you went through with your sister, and now your daughter..."

This time Chet cut Frank off. "No, Frank, you don't get it. This isn't the same. With my sister, it was instantaneous. One minute she's alive, the next minute I was told that she wasn't. And as much as I grieved for her, I never felt that you and Joe were responsible."

"That doesn't mean we didn't feel responsible anyways. Especially Joe."

"Iola was with Joe because she wanted to be. She knew that there were risks, but it was her choice. So when she died, that made it easier for me to accept it.

You have to understand, Frank. After the initial shock of hearing of my sister's death wore off, and I truly comprehended what had happened, I realized something. I realized that that day, someone I cared about would have died. Whether it had been Iola, or Joe, or you, I would have lost someone. So while I missed my sister terribly, I was also grateful that my two best friends had survived."

The impact of Chet's words floored Frank. He had never known that his friend had thought about that, that he had weighed the loss of his own sister against the survival of his two best friends and had actually somehow managed to find some balance in that. But still, his daughter…

As if sensing the direction of Frank's thoughts, Chet continued.

"But with my daughter, it was completely different. I had hours to wait yesterday, Frank. Hours! Hours where I could only imagine every atrocity, every disaster that could have occurred. I had to stay behind, unable to do anything to protect the one person in the world who depends on me for protection."

Then, the fire in Chet's voice faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I don't know if I can explain this, Frank, but she's my entire world," Chet said softly. "The day she was born, the day she was placed in my arms for the first time, the universe just shifted. I would die to protect her. I would give up anyone, everyone, if it meant keeping her safe. Including you and Joe. You have to understand that too."

Frank could only nod. "But," Chet continued, "what I didn't consider yesterday, what I was too pissed off to consider yesterday, was that you saved my daughter's life. You and Joe and Nancy risked your own lives to bring her home safely. I figure I owe you for that."

Now Frank shook his head. "No, Chet, you don't owe us anything. You know that Joe and I care about Iola too. My brother's off somewhere, beating himself up right now because of how much he cares.

"And you're right, I don't know what it's like to have a child of my own. But I do know that I've thought about it, thought about what it would be like if I were to have kids of my own one day."

Frank stopped and blew out a breath. He had never shared these thoughts with anyone, not even Joe. But now that he had started, he would finish it.

"It scares me to death, Chet. With what we do, who we are, it terrifies me to even contemplate bringing a child into this, who could be used to get at me. It was so much easier when we were younger. We didn't have to think about these things, we just went off solving our cases and saving the day. But now, there's so much more at stake. In that sense, I guess these madmen have succeeded, because they've certainly driven that point home. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you want out, Chet, then I understand."

Chet's response was stopped short by the shoving open of the kitchen door. It swung wildly on its hinges as a tiny figure barreled towards Frank, launching herself at his knees.

"Uncle Frank, you're still here!"

Instinctively, Frank reached down and picked Iola up, settling her on his hip. She wrapped one arm around his neck tightly. At a loss for words, Frank looked at Chet, not sure how to respond to Iola. Chet met his gaze levelly, then smiled at his daughter.

"Of course Uncle Frank's still here, honey. And he's going to whip you up some pancakes for breakfast. How does that sound?"

"Yay!" Iola squeezed her arm tighter around Frank's neck in an enthusiastic hug. Frank gave his friend a wry grin.

"Thanks, man."

But there was no sarcasm behind the words.

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Joe and Nancy sat in silence, each submerged in their own thoughts. Morning had slowly grown into noon, and the sun was now bright overhead, adding a hint of warmth to the otherwise brisk cold. Their breaths made little puffs in the air, dispelling as the next quiet breath was taken. Their years of friendship made the silence companionable, not uncomfortable. Still, for a moment, Nancy contemplated saying something, anything, just to get Joe talking again. But she stopped herself, because while not exactly happy, Joe at least seemed calmer than he had before, and she didn't want to disturb that. So it surprised her when Joe was the one to break the silence first.

"So you and Frank had a long talk about this stuff, huh?"

Joe's voice was neutral, almost too neutral. Not sure if he was teasing her, or if he seriously wanted to know what she and Frank had talked about, Nancy pulled away from his side to look into his eyes.

Nope, definitely teasing.

She was so relieved to see Joe's sense of humor return that she found herself grinning in response.

"Joe, if you want to know what's going on between your brother and me, just ask."

"Okay," Joe replied. "What's going on between you and my brother?"

Nancy's eyes sparkled with mischief. "None of your business."

"Why, you…" Joe made a playful grab for Nancy, but she leapt off the swing, the momentum pushing it backwards. She took off at a run, laughing, as Joe managed to get off of the now out-of-control swing and follow. She ran nimbly down the porch steps and then around the side of the house, Joe in hot pursuit. As she rounded the back corner of the house, her steps slowed slightly to make the turn. Joe grinned. "I've got you now, Dr…oomph!"

Without warning, Joe was on his back, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, the wind completely knocked out of him. A shadow moved over him, blocking the sky from view, and he blinked. Nancy's grinning face filled his vision, her strawberry blonde hair looking strikingly like a halo with the sun glinting off of it.

"Looks like I can still take you, Hardy."

Two more shadows fell over him, and Joe turned his head to look up at his brother and Chet, who was holding Iola in his arms. Both men had very amused looks on their faces, and Iola just looked confused.

"Daddy, why is Uncle Joe sleeping behind the house?"

"He's not sleeping, sweetie. Your Uncle Joe just has a habit of falling hard for girls."

Nancy smirked, while Frank stretched out a hand to pull his brother to his feet. As Joe dusted himself off, Frank turned and winked at Iola. "Unfortunately for your Uncle Joe, though, he doesn't quite know how to keep his feet under him when he finds one."

Joe groaned, and Iola just looked even more confused. "What is this, beat-up-on-Joe-day?" Joe grumbled. Iola wriggled in her father's arms, and when he loosened them, she reached out to Joe. He swung her into his arms easily, hugging her. She kissed the tip of his nose, then rested her head against his shoulder. "It's okay, Uncle Joe. I still love you." She then turned and glared at her father, Frank, and Nancy. "They're all just a bunch of meanies!"

Everyone laughed. "Looks like you've still got one girl that's fallen for that old Hardy charm, Joe," Frank remarked. He ruffled Iola's light blond hair. "And she's quite a catch. I'd hang on to this one."

Joe squeezed Iola tighter, his voice turning serious. "I intend to." His eyes met Chet's, and a look of understanding, of friendship, and most importantly, of forgiveness passed between them.

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Dinner that night was much more light-hearted than the morning had started out, but despite the banter between the friends, there were still a somberness underlying everyone's moods. Afterwards, Chet went upstairs to put Iola to bed, despite her loud protests that she wanted to stay downstairs and play with Uncle Joe. Surprisingly, he returned shortly, dropping down into the couch next to Joe, who was mid-speech.

"It's been an entire day, and we still haven't heard from the kidnappers."

Paternal instinct had Chet's head jerking upwards toward the living room entrance, halfway expecting a little blond head to be poking in. He had tucked Iola snugly into her bed, but she had a tendency to hop right out sometimes after he had left and come looking for him. He really did try to be strict about her bedtime, but the truth was, he enjoyed those precious moments with his daughter. The ranch kept him busy most of the day, and he usually came home around dinnertime. But this was one night that he really hoped that Iola was safely asleep upstairs. They had refrained from discussing the kidnapping, bombs, or anything else about the case in front of her all day, and he knew the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but pleasant.

"I don't know what the hell to do." Frustration was ripe in Frank's voice, and his fist clenched tightly on the arm of the loveseat. "Despite everything, we have no real leads. And we're entirely dependent on these men contacting us to have any real hope at all of finding our fathers."

Nancy sat next to him, her legs tucked under her. Her posture was relaxed, but her expression echoed Frank's frustration. "I just feel like I'm missing something," she said. "Like a piece of the puzzle is right in front of me, and I just can't see it."

"You and us all, then," Joe muttered. "Because I'm sure as hell at a loss."

"Why don't you guys try walking me through it all from the beginning?" Chet offered. When Frank gave him a questioning look, Chet continued.

"I know you've already told me everything that's happened, but I think it'll help to talk it out, go through the timeline of when this all first started. Figure out how the kidnappers ended up here."

Joe stared at his friend for a second before a startling grin broke out on his face. He had forgotten how surprisingly useful Chet could be on an investigation, and how he often offered a fresh perspective on things.

"I think that's a great idea, Chet," Nancy chimed in.

Frank nodded, cleared his throat, and then took the lead.

"We know that the kidnappers started out separately – one went after Nancy's dad, and one went after ours. They both ended up in New York in that warehouse, where we first saw them. Then they went back to Chicago, where they planted that bomb in Bess and George's apartment."

"We don't know if the kidnappers went back to Chicago together," Nancy interjected. "Bess and George only remembered seeing Krieger, no one else."

"It's possible that Krieger's accomplice went to Memphis instead, to set up the bomb there," Frank agreed.

"Either way, they had to have had access to a plane somehow," Joe stated. "There's no other way they'd be able to move all over to the country that quickly otherwise."

"You're right, Joe." Frank dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just wish Michael had been able to find something with those charter plane records."

Something niggled at the back of Nancy's mind, but before she could fully take hold of the thought, Chet's voice interrupted her.

"Maybe you could get Michael to broaden his search a bit, check the flights between New York and Chicago as well as New York and Memphis. And even flights to Helena, for that matter. You only had him check the flights from River Heights to New York the first time, right?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, that's true. I can give him a call in the morning."

"So then from Memphis, they came here," Joe continued. "I think we should assume that whoever was in Memphis didn't leave until after the bomb went off in the morning, since they had to be there to actually detonate it. With the short travel time, that still points to a charter plane of some sort."

"That bomb went off very early in the morning," Nancy pointed out. "They could have left right afterwards, before the news really even spread and before chaos erupted in Memphis. That means they would have been here by mid-morning, with the time difference."

"And they didn't kidnap Iola until the afternoon," Frank supplied.

"So what do two men, with two hostages, do in Montana to bide their time?" Joe queried caustically.

A gasp from the doorway caused everyone to jerk in their seats. Mrs. Paulie stood there, her face pale.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to be eavesdropping. I just…I just finished the dishes, Mr. Morton, and I was going to tell you that I was leaving for the night. But I couldn't help but overhear…what he just said, about two men…I just remembered…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, she seemed as though she might faint. Chet rose quickly and went to her side, placing a bracing hand under her elbow.

"Here, Mrs. Paulie, come sit down." He led her to a large overstuffed chair and helped her lower into it. When she had somewhat regained her composure, Chet sat down on the ottoman facing her.

"What did you remember, Mrs. Paulie?" he asked gently.

"The two men…there were two men here, yesterday morning. I didn't think anything of it at the time. They said they were from the Board of Education, doing a study..." At this, her voice trailed off again, and she buried her face in her weathered hands, starting to sob loudly. Chet shot a concerned look at his friends, and then patted the older woman's shoulder consolingly.

"Mrs. Paulie," he began, at a loss for words.

"Oh, Mr. Morton, it's so terrible!" she wailed. "I think I might have been the one who put our little Iola in danger!"

Now the look that Chet shot his friends was full of surprise, and he was truly speechless.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Paulie?" For the first time, Joe's voice was gentle when speaking to her. Despite her distress, Mrs. Paulie must have realized it too, because she actually managed to look up at Joe and quiet her sobs enough to speak.

"Yesterday morning, two men came to the house." Her voice hiccupped, and she took a deep breath. "They said they were from the Board of Education, doing a study on how much children on the outlying farms and ranches actually used the bus system. They wanted to know how Iola got to and from school. I didn't think nothing of it, this being such a safe area and all. One of them...I didn't like the look in that man's eye, but the other one seemed to be such a gentleman…had his manners about him when I offered them coffee, like his mama raised him right. So I didn't think nothing of it. I told them that our Iola was stubborn, liked her Uncle Mitch to pick her up from school. Then they wanted to know which roads Mitch took. Said they were analyzing the best ways for the school buses to go. So I told them, and they thanked me and all, and left. And I didn't think nothing of it until now." Large tears welled in her eyes again, and she turned back to Chet.

"Oh, Mr. Morton, I really am sorry," she said brokenly.

Chills ran down Chet's spine. "They were in my _house," _Chet whispered, almost silently.

Everyone sat stunned, absorbing Mrs. Paulie's story and the impact of Chet's words. Finally, Joe moved and sat on the arm of Mrs. Paulie's chair. He patted her shoulder in comfort.

"It's okay, Mrs. Paulie. These men have fooled many people before, including the three of us."

She glanced up at Joe in surprise, then gave him her first genuine smile.

"Thank you, young man," she said quietly.

Joe smiled in return. "You're welcome."

"Mrs. Paulie, did you get a good look at the two men?" Frank asked.

The older woman huffed out her breath indignantly. "I served those two men tea in this very room, sat across from them for nearly an hour. Of course I remember what they look like."

Frank held up his hands in apology. "I didn't mean any offense, ma'am. What I meant was, do you think you remember them well enough to describe them in detail to someone else?"

Nancy looked at him. "You're thinking of a police sketch artist, aren't you?" she asked, picking up on his train of thought.

Frank nodded. "Mrs. Paulie is the first person who's gotten a good look at both of the men, not just Krieger." He looked at Mrs. Paulie questioningly. "I'm assuming one of the men had a triangular scar on his face?"

She nodded.

"Yes, the one with that look in his eye, like he'd sell his own mother if it came down to it."

Joe snorted. "That's not a bad description of him, actually."

"Not bad at all," Frank agreed. "Anyways, I think Mrs. Paulie should work with a sketch artist tomorrow and see if we can get a sketch of the other guy. So far we haven't gotten any leads with Krieger. If we're lucky, we might actually be able to identify his accomplice. And then if we're really lucky, we might actually be able to find a trail on him instead."

Nancy smiled, but her blue eyes were clouded.

"It's a good lead, but I'm also afraid of what it means."

"What do you mean, Nancy?" Chet prompted, when she paused.

"The fact that they let Mrs. Paulie see them at all, and then left her behind as a potential witness. It means they're getting arrogant."

Nancy looked up, meeting Frank's eyes, then Joe's.

"It also means that they don't plan on ever being found."

Her words hung like a dead weight in the silent room.

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	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I can't tell you how absolutely thrilled and humbled I am by the response this story has gotten. Thank you all so much for your continued reading and your continued reviews. When I first started this story, it was the characters that inspired me. Now, in addition to the characters, I am inspired by all of you and your generous response. So thank you! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, but borrowing them and writing about them is the next best thing.**

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When Nancy came downstairs the next morning, Chet was alone at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper. An empty plate and a half-full glass of orange juice sat before him, and from the lingering scents in the air, Nancy guessed that bacon and pancakes were the order of the day. Her stomach, already unsettled from the sleepless night that she had had, turned over at the thought. Foregoing the notion of breakfast, she sat down in the chair across from Chet. He lifted his head from the paper and gave her a smile.

"Good morning," he said brightly.

"Good morning," she replied. "Where is everyone?"

"Frank and Joe are with Mrs. Paulie and the sketch artist. The guy got here early this morning, and they went to work right away. I've been trying to stay out of their way for now. Figured I'd make some breakfast for everyone, but they've been so tied up that they haven't even taken a break yet.

"Speaking of which, would you like some breakfast?"

Nancy shook her head quickly. "Don't worry about it, Chet. I'm not really hungry."

Chet frowned. "Nancy, you need to eat something. Everything you guys have been going through, all this stress, it's not good for you. You have to take care of yourself."

Nancy gave him a wry smile. "You sound like Hannah."

Chet gave her a curious look. "Do you call your mother by her first name?"

The quick, sharp pang of pain that accompanied any mention of her mother was almost a knee-jerk reaction by now. But over the years, Nancy had become accustomed to it, and to ignoring it. So the smile that she gave Chet this time was a little more genuine.

"You could say that, in a way. Hannah is our housekeeper, who came to live with us when I was three years old. My mother died when I was very young." The smile faded from her face, and her blue eyes were sad when they met Chet's. "I guess that's something that Iola and I have in common."

Chet's gaze was stricken. "I'm so sorry, Nancy, I didn't know."

"It's okay," she reassured him.

There was an awkward silence after that. Nancy debated going and finding the brothers and the sketch artist to see what progress had been made. But she was afraid that if she left so abruptly, Chet would think it was because of what he had said. At a loss for anything else to say, Nancy picked up a section of the newspaper that Chet had set aside and began thumbing through it, not really focusing on any words on the pages but catching a few bolded headlines here or there. Chet followed her lead and resumed reading where he had left off. For a while, there was only the sound of rustling paper in the room. After a few minutes, Nancy saw Chet set down his paper in her peripheral vision. Thinking that this would be a good time to excuse herself, she started to rise, but then stopped when Chet looked up and gave her a lopsided grin.

"I know it's probably silly, but I still do the puzzles in the paper every morning."

Nancy couldn't help but smile. Chet's grin was so reminiscent of their younger years, when he had been such a happy-go-lucky teenager. Even though Nancy had only met him a few times, she had always enjoyed spending time with Chet, who had never failed to make her laugh.

"It's okay." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Your secret is safe with me," she whispered, her voice dramatically low.

Chet laughed. "I think I've already passed this habit on to Iola. She loves her puzzles, especially Boggle, which also happens to be my favorite."

Nancy nodded. "I remember her wanting to do those puzzles with Joe on the way to the hospital."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she nearly bit her tongue, afraid that she might have upset Chet by mentioning the hospital and reminding him of everything that Iola had gone through. But Chet merely smiled a fond paternal smile and bent his head to the paper, pencil in hand. He was working on the Boggle puzzle first, and Nancy watched him as he unscrambled letters to form words. As she sat there, the wheels in her head turned, until she felt a familiar click settle into place. She was out of her chair like a rocket, startling Chet into jumping in his own seat.

"Nancy, what…"

But she was already at the swinging door, pushing through and out.

"Frank!" she called, breaking into a run as she realized that she had absolutely no idea where in the house they might be.

"Fra…ack!" Nancy gasped as she ran head-first into a hard chest. Strong arms caught her as she nearly fell backwards, pulling her more gently into said chest.

"Nancy, what is it? What's wrong?" Frank's voice was frantic, obviously caught off-guard by her mad dash through the house shouting his name. She shook her head quickly, strawberry blonde hair swishing across her face and into her eyes. Frank pushed the locks aside and tucked them behind her ear.

"Where's your laptop, Frank?"

The frown on his face relaxed as he realized that it was excitement in her voice, not panic.

"In my room. Why?"

"Bring it to the kitchen. I've got an idea."

Frank broke into a grin, because he was very familiar with that look on her face. Nancy was onto something.

"You got it, Drew."

----------------------------

When Frank returned with the laptop, Nancy was pacing in the kitchen, and Chet sat at the breakfast table, looking decidedly bewildered. Nancy's blue eyes lit up when she saw Frank, and she gestured for him to set the laptop down on the table.

"Could you pull up the e-mail that you got from Michael, the one with the charter flight manifest?"

Frank nodded and went to his inbox, opening the message that Nancy was referring to. She stepped in front of the laptop and let her index finger hover over the screen, slowly running down the list of names.

_Amber Valletta / Dr. Jason Andrews_

_Robin Damons_

_Jan Reckler / Dr. Oscar Wen_

_Hubert Long / Will Davies_

Her finger reached the bottom of the list, then returned to the third line. She tapped the screen lightly, then her bottom lip, and then, without removing from her eyes from the screen, reached a hand out to Chet.

"Pencil?"

He handed it to her, still looking very confused.

"Paper?"

Chet glanced around quickly, then spotted a notepad lying next to the phone on the kitchen counter. He rose and grabbed it, then handed it to Nancy, standing next to Frank behind her so that he could see what had her so enthralled.

On the notepad, Nancy wrote "Dr. Oscar Wen". Then, underneath that, she wrote the letter 'C'. She crossed the same letter out from Dr. Oscar Wen's name. Then 'a'. Then 'r'. Then 's'. Then…

Chet gasped, and Frank let out a quiet, "My God," under his breath.

"Carson Drew," she stated triumphantly.

Frank resisted, just barely, from smacking his forehead with his hand.

"It's been right in front of us all along," he said in frustration.

Nancy nodded. "I knew that something kept bothering me about this list, but I couldn't figure out what. It was only when I saw Chet doing the Boggle puzzle this morning that it finally clicked." She gave Chet a grateful smile. "So thank you."

Chet flushed and rubbed a hand over his hair. "I didn't do anything, really." To divert attention from himself, he pointed at the other name next to "Dr. Oscar Wen."

"What about that name? Do you know that person?"

Nancy shook her head. "No. But I'm betting that's an anagram too, which means we need to unscramble the letters."

She tore off the sheet of paper that she had written on from the notepad and started with a fresh sheet, writing "Jan Reckler" at the top.

Then she began trying different combinations of the letters, Frank and Chet offering suggestions over her shoulder. She wrote out variation after variation, eliminating possibilities as either unlikely names or entirely unrealistic.

NERAL JERCK

KEN CRAJLER

JEN RACKLER

JACK LERNER

Nancy's breath caught as the familiar name glared up at her from the sheet of paper. Frank made a sound behind her that sounded distinctly like a growl.

"Jack Lerner? You have got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed.

Nancy turned to face him, clutching the paper in her hand. Chet looked even more confused than before.

"Who's Jack Lerner?"

"He was a two-bit criminal that we came across in one of our cases together when we were teenagers. He and his wife were trying to scam her family and make off with a diamond that had been hidden by one of her ancestors. The last time we heard of them, they had been tried and sent to prison."

Frank glared at the piece of paper, as if willing the name on it to change. "This doesn't make any sense. Sure, we had a hand in sending Lerner and his wife to prison, but it's not like they were the most violent criminals that we ever dealt with. The offenses that they were tried for weren't even that bad. What could make that man hold a grudge against us for so long and drive him to these lengths?"

Nancy shook her head. "I don't know, Frank. Maybe something happened that we don't know about. Or maybe he's just crazy. Either way, we have a name to go with now – we need to work on tracking him down."

Before Frank could respond, Joe came barreling through the kitchen door waving a large sheet of thick paper.

"Mrs. Paulie finished the sketch!" he exclaimed. "And you'll never believe who it is!"

"Jack Lerner?" Nancy supplied, as Joe paused for breath.

The air that Joe had just inhaled came out in a whoosh as he visibly deflated.

"How'd you know?"

Nancy handed him the sheet of paper that showed all of her unscrambling efforts. After taking in both Carson Drew's and Jack Lerner's names, Joe let out a low whistle.

"It's been right in front of our faces all along."

Frank gave his brother a sympathetic look. "That's exactly how I feel."

"Ditto," Nancy said. "But that's not the important thing right now. Frank, how long will it take to run his name through the Bureau's system and see if he left a trail anywhere?"

"Not long," he replied. "But I've got a better idea." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed a few buttons, then lifted it to his ear. Joe gave Nancy a quizzical look, and she just shrugged her shoulders in return. A moment later, Frank's voice cleared up the confusion.

"Yes, I'd like to speak to the manager of your agency, please." After a brief pause, Frank spoke again. "Hello, Mr. Peters. This is Special Agent Frank Hardy with the FBI. I spoke with you yesterday regarding names of individuals who had recently rented cars from your agency." Another brief pause ensued where Mr. Peters' tinny excited voice could be heard through the earpiece. "Yes, sir, I'm aware that you will not send me a list of all renters. But there was one more name that I needed you to look up in your system. Yes, it's Jack Lerner." Frank went silent as Mr. Peters presumably went to check on the name. Then, excitement spread across his handsome face. "He did? That's excellent news, Mr. Peters. I'll need to know the make of the car that he rented, the license plates, and the exact date and time that he rented the vehicle." A thought occurred to Frank, causing the excitement to change to panic. "He hasn't returned the vehicle yet, has he?" The following relief on Frank's face gave everyone the answer to that question. "Good." Another ramble from Mr. Peters had Frank pausing again. "Mr. Peters, we've already been over this. Getting a warrant will take time that I just don't have right now. This is a matter of life and death, and I assure you, if you make me wait for this information, when I finally show up with that warrant, I am not going to be a pleasant person to deal with." Another silence ensued, while everyone in the kitchen waited with bated breath. Finally, Frank smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Peters. Have a nice day."

Frank flipped the phone shut, then looked at his friends. "We got a plate and a make on the car." He scribbled the information down on the notepad that Nancy had been using.

"What's our next move?" Nancy asked.

Frank gave her a wry smile. "It looks like we'll be meeting with our favorite Agent Pennington again."

Nancy groaned. Before she could comment, however, the phone in Frank's hand started ringing. Frank looked at the Caller ID display on the outside of the phone, then frowned when he saw that it read "Unknown." He flipped the phone open and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Hardy."

"Lerner," Frank growled. Now that he had a name to put to the voice, it was all too easy to recognize.

"So the mighty detectives finally figured it out. Congratulations. Too bad you're too late."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"We had rules, Mr. Hardy," Lerner snarled, his voice turning hard. "You were told, very clearly, that you would have to follow our clues in order for your fathers to survive. But, as always, you and your cohorts displayed a blatant disregard for the rules. We distinctly left a clue telling Ms. Drew to go to Memphis, which she disobeyed. As a result, she lives, and therefore, your fathers will not."

The blood froze in Frank's veins. Then, it surged, and boiled hotly.

"You bastard," Frank spat. "You planned to kill them all along, didn't you?"

"Maybe…or maybe not. But now you'll never know." Lerner laughed, a low, menacing sound.

"Goodbye, Mr. Hardy."

This time when Frank flipped the phone shut, there was fire in his eyes.

"Let's go. We don't have time to waste."

----------------------------

On the way to the Bureau's field office in Helena, Frank related his conversation with Lerner to Nancy and Joe. Both paled visibly after hearing Lerner's threat, and Nancy felt bile rise to her throat. If only she had gone to Memphis like the clue had said…but then she would be dead, and there would still be no guarantee on her father's life. Nevertheless, the guilt was nearly crushing the breath out of her. She felt a slight pressure on her hand, and looked down to see Frank's hand squeezing hers, his other deftly handling the steering wheel.

"How in the world did Lerner and Krieger ever even meet up in the first place?" Joe asked in disgust, leaning in from the back seat and poking his head between Nancy and Frank. "We encountered them in two entirely unrelated cases that we worked on. And Krieger was supposed to be buried in some hell-hole prison in Cairo for the rest of his life."

"That's something we're going to have to ask them when we finally catch them," Frank replied. "I think the more important question right now is what those two men could be planning." He shook his head. "They're two completely different people. Trying to anticipate their next move is going to be difficult, if not impossible."

"And how did they find out that I'm still alive?" Nancy asked, forcing her voice past the lump in her throat. Frank shook his head. "Who knows, Nan?"

As he said this, Frank pulled into a parking space at the field office. Nancy gave the dull, red brick, one-story building a long look, then squared her shoulders. The three exited the vehicle and made their way into the building. Pennington met them just inside the door, and judging by the scowl on his face, he did not seem happy to see them.

"Did I not make it perfectly clear that I expected to be apprised of everything that you found at the crime scene?" Apparently this was a rhetorical question, because he went on before any of them could answer. "And then you call me out of the blue and tell me about a business card that you found that's led you to a car rental agency from whom our perps have rented a car, and when you decide you need my assistance, you choose to apprise me of this information?" His voice had risen as he spoke, and other agents were growing silent as they stared at the spectacle unfolding before them. Joe shifted slightly on his feet, but Frank was stoically still. Pennington was just reaching his stride now. "Withholding evidence in a federal investigation is a criminal offense, Agents, not to mention highly unprofessional. One phone call to A.D. Burr and I…"

Joe cut him off, ignoring his brother's slight motion to him to be quiet.

"Call Burr. Call the goddamn President of the United States if you want to, but on your own time. Right now, every minute that you spend wasting your breath endangers our fathers' lives further. If you won't help us, we'll find someone who will."

Pennington's mouth snapped open, then snapped shut again. He eyed Joe beadily for a moment before pivoting on his heel and walking away. Frank looked at Joe and Nancy, uncertain of what the agent's actions implied. Pennington stopped suddenly and turned to look at them.

"Well, aren't you coming?" he snapped. "I thought you were in a hurry here."

Nancy, Frank, and Joe followed him to his office without another word.

----------------------------

It was amazing how breathing could be both a blessing and a curse. Each breath, each expansion of air in his lungs, caused his ribs to throb even as life-sustaining oxygen was pumped through his veins. There was no part of his body that didn't hurt. Every bone, every muscle, even every organ, it seemed, throbbed with a dull ache. Until he shifted, and then the ache morphed into a stabbing pain. But shifting was necessary, because his hands and feet were tied, and if he didn't move, Fenton Hardy was afraid he would lose what little circulation he had. So every hour, or what he assumed to be roughly an hour because the kidnappers certainly hadn't been considerate enough to leave him a clock, he would force himself to shift around, his back braced against the wall, until some of the pins and needles left his hands and feet. Beside him, Carson Drew sat still as death, but Fenton knew that what his friend was feeling was infinitely worse.

"Carson," he ventured, his voice cracking from disuse.

But Carson did not respond, as he hadn't to every other attempt that Fenton had made to talk to him for the past two days. It had been two days ago when they had been in a darkened hotel room, both he and Carson recovering from the effects of yet another dosage of drugs, when the kidnappers had been about to leave to go off on another one of their unknown errands. The man with the scar on his face had stopped and turned, an expression of malicious glee on his face.

"Just thought you should know, old man," he had said, addressing Carson, "that your bitch of a daughter is dead."

Carson had lunged to his knees, and had somehow kept his balance despite the drugs in his system and the ropes around his ankles. "You bastard!" he had spat, and there had been fire in his eyes. "You're lying! I know my daughter, and she'd never die at the hands of the likes of you."

The man with the scar had merely laughed, while the other one had a look of contentment on his face that had been infinitely more unnerving. "Let's just say that she had an explosive morning. They're probably still picking up little pieces of her."

As the door had shut behind the men, Carson had howled, in a voice that was barely human. Fenton had sat beside him in numb shock, grief warring with the sick relief that the men had not said anything about his own sons. And then guilt had immediately followed, at thinking such a thought at such a time. He had not been able to comfort Carson, he had not had any words. Any attempts he had made to talk to him had been met with stony silence – Carson had not uttered another sound after that unearthly howl. He had merely rocked back and forth on his knees and heels until the men had returned. Then, all hell had broken loose. Without warning, without any reason, the men had brutally attacked them. They had kicked Fenton and Carson repeatedly, in the head, the stomach, the chest, the legs – anywhere within reach. The man with the scar had been particularly vicious, and had only stopped when the other one had regained control and reminded him that it was not their time to die. Yet. Then Carson and Fenton had been blindfolded, and when he had been able to see again, Fenton had found Carson seated next to him, his gaze vacant. Two days had passed since then, and Carson's eyes were still as empty as before.

As Fenton studied his old friend's face, he couldn't help but visibly wince. Carson bore scars that Fenton was sure were similar to his own, but so much worse than that was the look of emptiness. In one day, he had aged ten years. Even as Fenton looked, telling himself to turn away to allow his friend the illusion of privacy in his grief, Carson's lips tightened, causing a crack in his lip that had barely begun healing to split and bleed. For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, Carson turned to face Fenton.

"She's not dead."

The words were spoken clearly, quietly, and emphatically. Fenton could only nod.

"You would know it."

That simple declaration carried more weight than any sympathy ever could. _He knew_, Carson thought. Fenton knew what it was to have a child, children, in constant danger. To worry every evening whether today would be the day when there would be an officer at your door, telling you that he was very sorry for your loss. To wake from nightmares because you knew how many close calls your children had had, and in your nightmares, the close call had not been close enough.

"Were we wrong for allowing them to choose this life? Should we have tried harder to keep them from it?"

Fenton sighed. Those were questions that he and Laura had asked themselves, too often to count. He had lived the life of a cop, and she that of a cop's wife. Both knew the dangers and the risks, and the horrors that felt like they would chip away at your humanity until there was nothing left. And as his sons had grown older, and as he had begun to see more and more of himself in them, he and Laura had worried. But with the worry there had been a sense of pride. Despite a penchant for attracting trouble, Frank and Joe had an innate sense of morality and a strong desire to stand up for what was right. Yes, he was proud of his sons.

"I don't think we could have stopped them if we had tried, Carson."

Carson allowed his head to fall back against the wall behind him, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his skull. He felt old, infinitely old.

"No, we couldn't have."

And he knew that it was true. From the day that she had been born, Nancy had been a willful, precocious child. And she had stolen his heart. After his wife had died, he and Nancy had only grown closer. They had become a unit, a team. And like any good partner, and any good father, he knew his daughter's heart. Investigating cases, helping people – they weren't a choice for her, but a passion. She thrived on the work, she was happier for it. And he could never have denied his daughter that happiness, despite the constant worry that it brought to his life. But with the worry came pride, even though at a time like this, it was a very sharp double-edged sword indeed.

Before either man could say anything further, a door swung open, and the light that entered blinded them. In the glare, they could make out the dark silhouette of a man, but they could not identify which of their kidnappers it was. But the words were clear enough.

"Your time is up."

----------------------------


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I am so sorry for the long time between updates. Life has been beyond stressful lately, and while sometimes writing is the only thing that keeps me sane, it's still hard to make time for it. But just knowing that you guys are out there reading this story keeps me motivated, and even though it may take me a while, I will update! Thank you all, as always, for the continued support and reviews – keep them coming!!**

**Also, a huge thank you to my incredible betas (you know who you are!) for the wonderful suggestions and reminding me (very gently) when I'm being overly paranoid about my writing!**

**Disclaimer: I'm too tired for anything resembling wit at the moment. Needless to say, I don't own Nancy, Frank, Joe, Carson, or Fenton (or Lerner or Krieger, but they're very bad men and I don't want them anyways). The other characters in this chapter are my own creations, for better or worse.**

----------------------------

Despite his misgivings about Pennington, Frank was impressed with how quickly the agent got the ball rolling. He wasted no time in commandeering a conference room, assembling his task force, and getting the briefing started. Frank, Joe, and Nancy were all seated on the same side of the conference table, next to Pennington, who was at the head. A large projection screen was behind him, displaying a large picture of John Krieger, his triangular scar visibly prominent on his cheek. It was a grainy black-and-white photo, as if it had been taken by a security camera. But despite the blurriness, the expression on Krieger's face was no less menacing than Nancy remembered. She suppressed a shudder as Pennington spoke.

"This is John Krieger, a.k.a. Jonathan Kimball, a.k.a. Jared Fugazzi, to name a few of his known aliases. He escaped from his jail cell in Cairo approximately three weeks ago. The Egyptian authorities are working with our government and providing full cooperation – needless to say, they want him back, and they want him back fast.

"Krieger was originally apprehended for the attempted assassination of a U.S. Senator. However, because he attempted the assassination on Egyptian soil and endangered the lives of Egyptian citizens, he was taken into their custody. Details on how he escaped are unclear, but we know that he re-entered the U.S. shortly after his escape."

Pennington tapped a key on his laptop, and the image changed to Jack Lerner's mug shot.

"Jack Lerner. Krieger's suspected accomplice. Arrested for misdemeanor kidnapping and misdemeanor assault in San Francisco six years ago. Paroled two months ago for good behavior. He failed to show up for his first meeting with his parole officer, and the local PD hasn't been able to track him down since. There are no known connections between him and John Krieger, other than the fact that they were both apprehended by Agents Hardy and Miss Drew, back in their teenage amateur detective years."

Joe felt his blood heat at the faint smirk on the agent's face, and his hands clenched into fists under the table. Pennington rose, oblivious to the angry look on the younger Hardy's face. He moved slightly to the side to avoid the projector's glare.

"These are our targets, men. One John Krieger and one Jack Lerner. All evidence currently points to them being responsible for the bombing in Memphis, as well as the abduction of two men."

"Our fathers," Joe interrupted, earning a scathing look from Pennington.

"Personal vendettas aside, these men are a threat to our nation and its citizens, and are on the FBI's Top Ten Most Wanted List. Bringing them in would be a huge coup for this field office. So let's make it happen."

Now anger surged in Frank as well. Personal vendettas weren't acceptable, but a personal thirst for glory was? From the looks on Joe and Nancy's faces, he could tell that they were also disgusted by the agent's choice of words. But they all kept their thoughts to themselves, because they knew that they needed the Bureau's resources in tracking down their fathers. Even as Pennington was conducting this briefing, the crime lab was running the license plate number that Frank had gotten from the car rental agency. In addition to their own extensive database of information, the Bureau had access to resources such as traffic camera feeds and the local police department's database of traffic violations.

As smaller, separate conversations broke out amongst the agents, Joe leaned over to his brother.

"I hate this," he grumbled under his breath. Frank nodded in understanding. "I know. But there isn't anything else we can do. The only lead that we have on Lerner and Krieger is that license plate, and Pennington's team is going to be able to follow up on it much faster than we could on our own."

Nancy, on the other side of Frank, heard this and leaned in closer to the brothers. "They may be helpful now, but having this many people involved in bringing in Krieger and Lerner could be a problem."

Before either Frank or Joe could respond, a young woman rushed in the door, carrying a laptop, her white lab coat flapping at her sides. Her glasses were slightly askew on her face, and behind them, her bright green eyes gleamed with excitement.

"I found it," she declared, triumph ringing in her voice. She set her laptop down on the other end of the table opposite Pennington and plugged the A/V cable in. An image appeared on the screen behind her, somewhat blurred as Krieger's photo had been. Nancy squinted at the screen, trying to make out the image. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at. It was the back of a car, a maroon compact, with a Montana license plate. The plate number matched the one that Frank had gotten from the manager of the Pinnacle Car Rental agency.

"I tried running the number across all recent traffic violations, but I couldn't find anything. Then I took the number that you gave me, and superimposed it on the template of a standard Montana license plate. I saved that image, then ran a search of that exact image file against the archived video feed from the traffic cameras in the local area. Nothing came up there either. Then I started to play around with the pixels in my license plate image, altering them so that…"

"Agent Marshall," Pennington interrupted. He glared at her. "We don't need a play-by-play. Where was this image taken?"

Penelope Marshall flushed. She pushed the glasses up on her nose with her finger, running her other hand nervously across the top of her auburn hair. "Of course, sir. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Agent Marshall." Joe Hardy spoke up, giving the girl a reassuring smile. "This is really interesting stuff that you've done. It's just that time is kind of tight for us right now." A pretty smile bloomed on Agent Marshall's face, some of her embarrassment fading. Pennington's lips thinned, but he said nothing. Regaining her composure, Marshall tapped a key on the laptop, and the traffic camera image changed into a map of Helena, with a large red dot appearing near the downtown area.

"That dot represents the camera that took the picture." She tapped a few more keys, and the map zoomed in so that they could see street names.

"I tried to see if I could pick up the plate on any other cameras in the area, but I couldn't find anything."

One of the agents on Pennington's team spoke up. "Did that camera take any other pictures of the vehicle? Anything that would show us the identity of the driver or passengers?"

Agent Marshall shook her head. "That one picture is all I was able to find."

"What else is in that area, Agent Marshall? About within a five mile radius of where that picture was taken?" Frank asked.

Marshall hit a key on the laptop, and the street map turned into a satellite view of the area. "The map isn't very clear, but I know there's a shopping center nearby." She pointed to a single story, wide structure on the map. "Right there."

"There's a park nearby as well," another agent supplied. "I take my kids there sometimes to play." He pointed at a wide green area on the map.

"There's also a church," a female agent seated across from Nancy pointed out. "You can't see it very clearly on the satellite view, but it has a large cemetery next to it, which is showing up as another large expanse of green up there."

Nancy's throat tightened at the mention of a cemetery. They had already been to her mother's grave – she couldn't handle the thought of another cemetery, this time somehow involving her father.

"What else?" Frank said gruffly, as if he, too, were afraid of that possibility.

Agent Marshall bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "I think there's a…" Her voice was soft as she used her mouse to pan to the left side of the satellite image. "Yes, there it is," she said more clearly, pointing to a large grey building on the screen. "The train station is only about a mile from where that traffic camera is." Behind the building, many lines running in parallel were visible, presumably railroad tracks.

"A train station," Nancy murmured.

"Lerner," Frank finished the thought.

"It fits," Joe said, nodding. "This whole thing has been about a personal vendetta that these men have against us." It was not lost on the group that Joe was deliberately echoing Pennington's earlier words about vendettas. "And for Lerner, trains have a very direct connection to us."

"What do you mean, Agent Hardy?" Pennington demanded.

"We first met Jack Lerner on a train," Frank said, answering for his brother. "He and his wife organized a mystery event under the guise of pursuing the Comstock legend in memory of an old friend. But in reality, they were interested in finding Jake Comstock's diamond for themselves, in order to use it to locate a gold mine that he had discovered. Lerner kidnapped my brother and another woman on the train before we were able to apprehend him and his wife, as well as her cousin who was also trying to get his hands on the diamond."

"The diamond was lost at the bottom of the San Francisco bay," Nancy concluded, picking up the tale. "And Jack Lerner went to jail empty-handed."

"It makes sense that Lerner would involve trains somehow in this. All along, he's made this personal. He's made this about us. Our link with him began on a train; it makes sense that he'd try to end it on one." Joe looked at Pennington squarely. "They went to the train station. I know it."

Pennington eyed Joe for a moment, then nodded. "We'll go with this, because it's the only lead we've got right now. You'd better hope you're right about this, Hardy." He looked around the table at his task force.

"Let's go."

----------------------------

They arrived at the train station in teams, all converging in the crowded parking lot. Pennington stood in the center of the group, barking out orders.

"Lewis, Roberts, search the parking lot for any sign of a vehicle matching our description. Hans, Fuller, I want you to go over the trains behind the station with a fine-tooth comb – no train leaves this station without being searched. Agents Hardy, you're with me. We're checking out the inside of the station."

The agents dispersed, and Nancy moved to follow Frank and Joe. Pennington raised a hand and glared at her.

"This is a manhunt, Miss Drew. No civilians allowed."

"As a civilian, Agent Pennington," Nancy said through gritted teeth, "I am allowed to enter a public facility of my own accord. I believe it's a little thing called freedom." She flipped her reddish-blonde hair over her shoulder and stepped ahead of the three men. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a train station to investigate."

She entered the revolving doors of the building without a backwards glance. Pennington, still speechless, simply glared at Frank and Joe. Frank returned the stare without flinching, while a hint of a smirk played on Joe's lips. Finally, Pennington sighed and shook his head. "I don't have time for this." With that, he entered the revolving door, leaving Frank and Joe to follow.

----------------------------

The interior of the train station was surprisingly dim. Skylights and long windows allowed natural light to enter the building, but shadows thrived where the rays of the sun did not reach. As Frank's eyes adjusted to the dimness, he took in the rows of wooden benches, peppered with people waiting for their trains. He scanned the crowd but did not see anyone that even remotely resembled either Krieger or Lerner. Next to him, Joe was doing the same, mentally comparing each face against the images stored in his memory. From the lack of recognition in Joe's eyes and the mounting frustration, Frank knew that his brother had reached the same conclusion that he had. Krieger and Lerner were not there.

A movement nearby caught Joe's attention, and he turned to see Pennington headed for the information desk located at the center of the station. The counter was an elaborate affair, a hexagonal marble structure with a thin wall of the same stone rising behind it. On the wall was a digital marquee with the train schedule, which was constantly changing. Just above that was a large antique black clock, a stark contrast to the digitized board, but a complimentary reminder to the passengers about the time nonetheless. Joe briefly entertained the thought that Pennington might be going to gather further information about the train schedules, but then he caught a glimpse of strawberry blond hair. He tapped his brother on the shoulder.

"Frank." Joe tilted his head towards Pennington. "Looks like he's heading for Nancy."

Frank swore mildly under his breath. "Will that man never give up?" The brothers hastily followed the senior agent, catching up to him just as he reached the female detective. She had just stepped away from the information desk, a small smile on her face. Ignoring Pennington altogether, she spoke to Frank and Joe.

"I found out where the station manager's office is. The attendant at the information desk called ahead and let him know we were coming. He's expecting us."

"Surely you didn't alert the attendant as to why we're here," Pennington said, his voice indicating that he clearly had no such hopes.

"Of course not," Nancy replied, smiling guilelessly at Pennington. "What do you take me for, an amateur?"

This time, Joe didn't even bother trying to hide the smirk on his face. Nancy turned on her heel, once again leaving the men to follow.

----------------------------

The station manager was a man who clearly believed that an empty desk was the mark of an empty mind and was determined to prove to the world that his own mind was anything but. Old magazines and newspapers were spread all over the surface of the desk, leaving no inch uncovered. Resting precariously on those were dirtied paper plates, crumpled napkins, and multiple Styrofoam cups with brown liquid dried on the inside. Crumbs from his latest meal dotted the middle-aged man's pinstriped shirt, and as they walked in, he was making a vain attempt to brush them off his paunch and onto the floor. Nancy barely suppressed a wince at the mess – if Hannah saw this, she would have a heart attack.

Pennington stepped forward, flashing his badge.

"Agent Pennington, FBI. And these are Agents Frank and Joe Hardy." The brothers pulled out their own badges and showed them to the manager. When it became obvious that Pennington did not plan to introduce Nancy, Frank cleared his throat. "And this is our friend, Nancy Drew."

The station manager nodded at all of them. Though the smile on his face was genial, his brown eyes were filled with apprehension. Clearly the FBI did not come knocking on his door every day.

"I'm Thomas Bale. Tom for short." He offered his hand to Pennington, but belatedly realized that his hand was also covered in crumbs. He quickly wiped it on the thigh of his pants before offering the hand to Pennington again with a smile. Pennington glanced down at the hand, then back at the manager. Clearly he found the man lacking and made no attempt to hide it. Bale cleared his throat in embarrassment and let his hand drop to his side.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"We're looking for these two men," Pennington said gruffly, taking the mug shots out of the manila folder he had been carrying and handing them to Bale. "Our information leads us to believe that they are somewhere in the vicinity of this train station. Both men are extremely dangerous and are considered a threat to the general population. Finding them is of extreme importance. Have you had any reports of unusual incidents in this station or from any of the trains that have passed through today?"

Bale shook his head, his eyes shifting from the pictures in his hand to Pennington's face. 'No, sir, I haven't. Everything has been running smoothly."

"Is it possible you might have seen them somewhere in the station, just in passing?" Frank asked.

Bale shook his head again. "No, I don't think so."

"Think harder, Mr. Bale," Joe pressed. "This is really important."

"I'm sorry," Bale said, flustered. "But you have to understand…hundreds of people go through this station every day. It'd be impossible for me to remember all of them."

"We don't need you to remember all of them, Mr. Bale. We just need you to try to remember these two. Please, look at those pictures again."

Bale heard the hint of desperation in Nancy's voice, and it tugged at something in him. He looked down at the images of the two men, wincing as he registered the menace that radiated from the men's eyes. Whoever they were, Bale had no doubt that they had done very bad things. He wracked his brain trying to think if either of the pictures triggered any kind of memory, but he came up blank.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes finally meeting Nancy's hopeful blue ones. "I just don't remember seeing them."

"We're going to need a complete schedule of every train going through this station today, both freight and passenger," Pennington demanded, switching tacks, not willing to waste any more time on this man's lack of memory. "From this point on, no train leaves this station without being searched by my team."

"Now wait just a minute," Bale said, pushing away from the front of his desk and straightening from the slouched position he had been in. "I realize that finding these men is important to you, but we can't just disrupt our entire schedule here. This station runs like clockwork – even the slightest delays will wreak havoc on our system."

"So will having one of your trains blow up."

Bale immediately paled, and for a moment, Joe was afraid the station manager was going to faint. He couldn't say that he agreed with Pennington's harsh delivery of the threat that Krieger and Lerner posed, but it had certainly been effective in getting Bale's attention.

"Do you still have any issues with us searching your trains, Mr. Bale?" Pennington asked, his voice dangerously low. Bale shook his head quickly.

"No, sir," he stammered. "I'll get you a copy of the schedule, the names of the engineers…" Bale began rifling haphazardly through the stacks of papers perched precariously on his desk. Just then, the phone on his desk rang, startling the man and causing him to knock a sheaf of papers off the desk.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He didn't need this. Being a station manager was supposed to be easy, Bale thought. His biggest headache should be managing the schedule of the trains coming and going, not dealing with psychopathic bombers.

"What?" he barked into the phone, after locating it under a pile of old newspapers.

"Mr. Bale," the voice on the other end said hesitantly. Bale recognized the voice as one of his employees, Jimmy. He tried to smooth the edge out of his own voice. The last thing he needed was everyone thinking he was a bad boss, or worse, that something very dangerous was going on.

"Yes, Jimmy, what is it?"

"Mr. Bale, the Connelly freight train was just reported as being stalled on its tracks just east of Bozeman."

"Have you tried to get the engineer on the horn?"

"Yes, sir. No one's responding."

Bale cursed under his breath. No, he definitely did not need this.

"Who's listed as the engineer on that train today?"

"It's Ed Melby, sir."

"Alright Jimmy, thanks for letting me know. I'll take care of it."

Bale hung up the phone and stepped behind his desk. A few more casual shoves of paper and he unearthed his keyboard. He began punching in some keys, ignoring the other people in the room entirely. Which did not sit well with Pennington.

"Well," the agent demanded. "What was that about?"

"Just a stalled train," Bale muttered absently, finally finding the file that he was looking for. He pulled up the list of contact information for the engineers, missing the look that the agents and Nancy exchanged amongst themselves. Finding Melby's cell phone number, he picked up his phone again and dialed. After several rings, Bale was just about to give up when, suddenly, the phone was answered.

"Melby?"

"Oh, so that's what his name was," the voice on the other end chuckled, and Bale felt chills race down his spine.

"Who the hell is this?" Bale demanded shakily.

Pennington stepped forward, gesturing to the speaker button on the phone. Bale complied, depressing the button and quietly replacing the handset on its cradle.

"It's none of your concern. But, more importantly, who are you?"

Bale looked at Pennington, questioning. The agent nodded.

"This is Thomas Bale, the station manager of the Helena Railway Station. One of our trains was reported as being stalled, and Melby was listed as the operating engineer. Since this is his cell phone you're answering, I'd like to know who you are."

"The station manager, huh? Tell me, Mr. Bale, do you happen to have a certain Frank and Joe Hardy there with you? And a Nancy Drew as well?"

Bale's eyes shot to the people in question, startled. Pennington turned to Frank and gave another short nod.

"We're here, Lerner," Frank said loudly, easily recognizing the voice on the phone since it was his second time hearing it that day.

"Good," Lerner responded, and his voice hardened. "It seems you've followed our trail, despite the lack of a clue. But I shouldn't have expected any less from you three. As a result, I'll be nice and give you a little reward."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Time, Mr. Hardy. Your fathers are still alive, which buys you a little time."

At this news, Frank released the breath that he hadn't even known he had been holding. Nancy's shoulders slumped forward slightly with relief, and Joe put a reassuring arm around her and squeezed tightly.

Lerner continued. "If there's one thing you three should have learned from this little game we've been playing, it's how important time is. So I'd strongly suggest that you get moving."

"It's us you want, Lerner, not them. Stop playing games. We know where you are, and we'll find you. So why don't you just leave them alone?" Joe demanded.

"You're right, Joseph," Lerner said, his voice brittle. "It is you three that I want. And if you know what's good for you and your fathers, you'll come alone. Just you, Frank, and Nancy. If I catch even a whiff of cops, your fathers will be blown to pieces before you can even say 'bomb'."

The sound of a click followed, causing Bale to start. He lifted the receiver back to his ear frantically. "Hello?"

"It's no use," Frank told him, dragging a hand through his hair. "The clock's already ticking; that's all he wanted us to know."

"He said 'was'." Bale's face was deathly white, and he looked at Frank in desperation. "When I asked him about Melby, he said, 'that's who that was'."

Frank, Joe, and Nancy all looked at each other, then at Pennington. For a simple man, Bale wasn't stupid. He knew what that look meant.

"No. No, Melby can't be dead. He's a good man. I know him. Know his wife and kids too. Two kids, cute as can be. Still in grade school. He can't be dead."

For once, Pennington was neither sarcastic nor rude. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bale. But you need to prepare yourself for that possibility."

Frank felt a tug of sympathy for the man, but inside him, a coil was wound tight.

"We have to go," he stated, his tone brooking no argument. Still, it shouldn't have surprised him that Pennington gave him one.

"You three aren't going out there alone. My task force is going with you."

"No way!" Joe interjected. "If Krieger and Lerner see us show up with the cavalry, there's no telling what they might do."

"We can't risk that," Nancy said, "not with our fathers' lives on the line."

Pennington turned the force of his glare on her. "And I suppose you think you're going with them, Ms. Drew?"

"She goes," Frank said shortly. "And I'm done arguing about this. You heard what Lerner said. We already know that he and Krieger have proven themselves to be unpredictable, and there's no telling what they'll do if we show up with an entire FBI task force. You have no right to risk our fathers' lives, not to mention any other innocent civilians that might be involved in this. And if you attempt to, I'll have you called up on charges so fast your head will spin. Think about how that'll look on that record you're so proud of."

Pennington's glare could have cut through glass. But Frank didn't back down. Finally, Pennington stepped forward, getting right in Frank's face.

"Thirty minutes, Hardy. That's all of the head start I'm going to give you."

Frank nodded, not willing to argue further. With any luck, thirty minutes would be all the time they needed. He tried not to even consider the alternative.

Because Lerner had made one thing very clear: time was running out.

----------------------------


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I know a lot of people have been worried that I had given up on this story or put it on hiatus. I promise that's not the case, despite the long amount of time between updates. I've been travelling a lot recently, and unfortunately that makes it very hard to write (especially when my laptop decides to stop working while I'm on a month-long trip!) So, hopefully that helps explain the delay -- as I've mentioned before, I have no plans on giving up on this story until we all see it through to the end!**

**Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas for all of their guidance and support, and to all of the people who have reviewed this story for your continued encouragement. I'm anxious to hear everyone's thoughts on this chapter, so please review!!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Plain and simple as that.**

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"Any luck?" Fenton Hardy's voice was strained, forced through the taut muscles in his neck.

Carson shook his head desperately in response, sweat dripping in rivulets off his face. He paused in his motions, panting heavily. Next to him, Fenton continued his struggle with the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back. Only a sliver of light illuminated the interior of the train car, allowed through by a slight crack in the large metal door. But even in the dim lighting, Carson could see the redness that suffused Fenton's face from his exertions. For one wild moment, Carson was deathly afraid that his friend might have a heart attack, and the irony of the thought nearly induced him to mad laughter. He looked at the bomb that the kidnapper had placed in front of them on the floor of the car, the seconds slowly ticking away.

_Maybe a heart attack wouldn't be such a bad way to go._

Shaking his head to clear away the morose thought, Carson began struggling against his ropes again with renewed vigor. There was still time, and that meant there was still hope.

He just tried not to focus on how little time there was, or how little hope.

----------------------------

Frank Hardy gripped the dashboard of the SUV tightly as his brother swerved from behind a giant eighteen-wheeler truck, mere seconds before impact. His body felt like a tightly wound coil, his muscles rigid with tension. Somewhere behind them, he could practically envision Pennington chomping at the bit, eager to follow them despite the risks that his early arrival could cause. Ahead of them, beyond the endless stretch of highway, were their fathers and two lethal, deranged kidnappers. And next to him was his brother, driving like an equally deranged maniac.

"Joe, slow down," Frank said through gritted teeth. "This isn't NASCAR."

"No," Joe said tightly, his hands gripping the wheel. "It's faster. And if you don't want me to lose focus, Frank, I suggest you stop telling me how to drive."

Surprisingly, Frank heeded his brother's advice. His cautionary warning to Joe had been more out of habit than true fear for their lives -- the desperate need to get to their fathers in time far surpassed any kind of regard for traffic dangers. Still, Frank darted a quick glance towards the back seat to see how Nancy was dealing with Joe's erratic driving. She caught his glance, and the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward, reassuring him. There was no longer any fear in her eyes, but rather a certain fierceness, a readiness to face whatever they would find when they reached their destination. Frank could tell that Joe's driving wasn't fazing her at all; the only allowance that she made for it was a hand tightly wrapped around the armrest of the door to hold herself in place. He returned her small smile and turned to face forward again.

Nancy's calm demeanor caused the tightness in Frank's chest to ease a little. Too many times on this case, they had been in this exact situation -- in a vehicle, racing against time to save their loved ones, with fear and desperation resting heavily in their hearts. Now, for better or worse, Frank knew instinctively that this would be the last time. This was it -- the final confrontation with the kidnappers that this whole farce had been leading up to. And they would not face these criminals with fear, but with the determination to rescue their fathers and get out of this whole mess alive.

After that, they just had to hope for the best.

----------------------------

"There it is," Frank said, pointing. He had spotted a slight glimpse of the stalled train, still far away, beyond a dense grove of trees. The late afternoon sun illuminated the tall, stark peaks of the mountains in the distance, adding to the sense of isolation that pervaded the area. There were no other cars on the road, no buildings, no people, no sign of life but them. Still, Joe inched the vehicle forward with caution until they had a better view of the train. He stopped, his brow furrowed. Then, he suddenly swung the SUV off the road and into the grove of trees, driving as deeply in as possible. Putting the vehicle in park, he cut the ignition and turned to meet his brother's inquiring look.

"I know they're expecting us, but I figured we could at least try for the element of surprise."

Frank gave him an approving look. "Good thinking, Joe." He opened his door and jumped out.

Joe and Nancy followed, and they stealthily made their way through the trees, using the cover provided to get as close to the stalled train as possible. Eventually, they reached the far edge of the grove. They stopped, assessing the remaining distance to the railroad tracks. It looked to be about half a mile, but it wasn't the distance that was the problem. It was the fact that there was no cover for them in this last stretch. They would be completely vulnerable out in the open.

Joe looked over at his brother and Nancy and saw the same realization on their faces. He gave them a tight smile.

"You guys ready to make a run for it?"

Nancy pushed away the stray wisps of reddish blond hair that had come loose from her ponytail. She looked at the barren, dirt-filled stretch of open land in front of them, and then at the unmoving train that was their ultimate goal.

"Let's go," she said firmly.

Frank's answering nod was their signal, and the three darted out of the trees into the open space. Their feet pounded hard into the dirt, their legs propelling them forward at breakneck speed. The wind whistled in their ears, carrying with it a sound that brought them to a sudden, silent stop.

The sound of a revolver being cocked.

----------------------------

The three detectives instinctively turned in the direction of the sound, but not before Nancy cast one last, long look at the train that still seemed so far away.

_We didn't even have a chance_, she thought in frustration.

And there behind them were Jack Lerner and John Krieger, in the flesh, their faces no longer masked, standing with identical handguns aimed directly at them. Even though they had already figured out who the kidnappers were, seeing them together was still a shock. They were recognizable, but their appearance had changed drastically. Jack Lerner was no longer the jovial host that had greeted them on the mystery train so long ago. The years had carved deep lines into his face, and his eyes had frozen into a cold wrath that made Nancy shiver. In contrast, Krieger's rage radiated from him in hot, boiling waves. Gone was the suave, cold businessman that they had last encountered. In his place was a hardened, embittered savage. But beyond their appearances, it was the sight of the two men together that delivered the greatest shock. From two completely unrelated cases, two completely different _countries_…Nancy gave herself a mental shake. As inconceivable as it was, there was no time to dwell on it. However these men came together, the fact remained that they now had identical shiny stainless steel revolvers pointed at her and her friends.

"So long," Lerner breathed, and there was a hint of madness in his eyes. "So long we've waited for this moment. All our planning, so painstakingly executed. And here you three are, at our mercy. This is a very sweet moment, indeed." He turned to his companion. "Don't you agree, John?"

Krieger grinned maliciously. "I have to say, Jack, I wasn't too keen on your game of cat-and-mouse. I just wanted to get rid of these punks and be done with it." His grin spread even wider. "But since payback is supposed to be exquisitely painful, this way was much better."

Joe's hand inched slowly, painstakingly towards the holster his waistband. Unfortunately, Lerner caught the movement and aimed the barrel of his gun directly at Joe's heart.

"Don't even think about it, Joseph."

Joe gritted his teeth in frustration and let his hand drop back to his side. Lerner just smirked at him.

"You always were a troublemaker, Joe. Even back in the old days, I had to lock you away on that train to keep you from poking your nose into my business. You just couldn't keep yourself from trying to find that girl." Now the smirk turned into a scowl. "You three never could mind your own business. Always tried to be too smart for your own good." Lerner used his gun to gesture at Joe's holster. "I want you to remove your gun slowly and place it on the ground. Then kick it towards me. You do the same too, Frank. I'm not taking any chances with you three." Lerner's hand tightened around the handle of his gun. "If I see even one false move, anything I don't like, I'll blow your brains out." Krieger just remained silent, watching the aggravation on the detectives' faces with smug satisfaction. He kept his gun trained unwaveringly on Nancy.

"Now raise your hands in the air, all three of you," Lerner demanded.

They complied, painfully aware of the helpless situation they were in. Nancy glanced at the stalled train again out of the corner of her eye, her muscles taut as they desperately fought the urge to run towards the train and get their fathers out _now_. Frank's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Okay, you have us right where you want us." He tried to sound conciliatory, but undercurrents of frustration still ran through his voice. "You don't need our fathers anymore. Let them go."

"You're in no position to bargain, Hardy," Krieger growled.

But Lerner actually smiled.

"No, no, John, Frank is actually quite right. We don't need their fathers anymore."

And then in a motion so smooth it was nearly undetectable, he pulled a small plastic device from the pocket of his slacks. And with the same chilling smile firmly in place, he pressed a button on the trigger.

He was still smiling when the train exploded, each car sending its own flaming inferno into the clear blue sky.

----------------------------

No.

Nancy was sure that she screamed that single word of denial. But she could hear nothing above the deafening sound of the explosion, and she knew that the word had only been a silent scream in her head. As the flames rose high into the air, grief exploded in her heart. Her father was gone.

The muscles in her legs that had turned to jelly mere seconds before now roared to life, and she launched herself at Lerner, finally screaming that word aloud.

"No!"

But even as she lunged, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Krieger had swung his arm around, following her momentum with the barrel of his gun. But she was too far gone to stop, too intent on reaching Lerner, needing to let loose the rage and grief tearing at her heart upon the person that had caused it.

"Nancy!"

Frank's voice was merely a dull roar in her brain. But the sound of the bullet that followed it was infinitely louder. Suddenly Nancy was falling, away from Lerner, Frank's weight propelling them both toward the hard ground. He landed on top of her, his body shielding her smaller frame. Nancy tried to get her breath back, her hazy mind taking a mental inventory of her body, trying to determine if she was shot. But other than some soreness where she had hit the ground, she felt no other pain. And somehow, the hit that she had taken had knocked the raging grief out of her, causing her to once again find a slippery grip on reality. She took another deep breath and slowly removed her arms from around Frank, which she had unconsciously wrapped around him when he had knocked her down.

"Frank, I'm fine. You can let me up…"

But the words died in her throat as her right hand came away from Frank's side.

It was covered in blood.

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	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: It seems that all I've been doing for the last few chapters is apologize for the long periods of time between updates. I really, truly am sorry about that. You all have been such wonderful readers, such wonderful reviewers, and I feel terrible that I make you wait so long for new chapters. But at the same time, I don't want to rush putting out a chapter that I'm not happy with, because I feel that I owe it to you all to do the best work that I possibly can. So I hope that you all can understand, and forgive me, and continue to stay with me and this story!**

**Thank you so much to my wonderful betas for their advice and suggestions, both in life and in writing -- you're all invaluable to me. And thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter for all of your comments -- I know I left quite a cliffhanger last time! Hopefully the length of this chapter helps make up for it -- it's the longest chapter yet in this story!**

**Disclaimer: Trust me, I don't own any of these characters. If I did, "Terror on Tour" would never have happened.**

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Joe was certain that time had frozen, that it stood still for him and those around him. The explosion of the train, the implications of what it meant for the fate of their fathers had barely begun to sink in when Joe heard Nancy's scream. When she had lunged for Lerner, every muscle in his body had tensed. When the bullet had gone off, Joe had instinctively reached for the weapon that was no longer at his side. And when he saw Frank's blood covering Nancy's hand, every thought in Joe's mind had emptied.

But time had not frozen, and neither, somehow, had he.

Joe ducked low to the ground, and in a move so swift it was nearly indiscernible, he pulled a second handgun from the concealed holster that he always wore around his ankle. Before Krieger could even fully swing his gun away from Nancy and redirect it at him, Joe had already pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

Even as dark red blood bloomed bright on Krieger's chest, Joe braced himself for the impact of a bullet. He had known that he could not take out Krieger and Lerner at the same time, that by choosing to shoot the man who had shot his brother he was leaving himself open to a shot from Lerner. But the bullet never came. Joe looked over at Lerner, just in time to see him crumple to his knees, his eyes rolling backwards in his head. And there, behind him, stood Carson Drew and Fenton Hardy, the latter gripping a rusty crowbar tightly in his hands.

Everything seemed to happen all at once then. Joe and Fenton ran over to Frank, while Carson knelt to check for a pulse on both fallen men. Sparing no other thought for the two criminals, Joe turned his full attention towards his brother. Nancy had managed to roll Frank over onto his back, and one glance at his brother's pallid color told Joe that it was very, very bad. A second glance at Nancy's face confirmed this -- she was deathly pale herself, her attention completely focused on Frank, and Joe knew that she had barely registered everything that had just happened around her. Joe wanted to do something, anything, to help his brother, but he knew that there was nothing he could do that Nancy wasn't already doing. So instead, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911, staring silently down at his brother as the phone began ringing.

"How bad?" Fenton asked Nancy, his voice shaking.

"He's alive," Nancy responded, and that was all she could manage to say. She couldn't add the "just barely" that should have followed that statement. When she had checked Frank's pulse moments before, it was thready at best, and he was continuing to lose blood rapidly. Now she was doing her best to keep her hands pressed hard against the wound, trying to stem the pulsing flow. But her hands were slick with his blood, and she could barely maintain enough pressure. Thinking quickly, she unzipped her fleece sweatshirt and stripped it off, rolling it into a ball to press against Frank's wound. His blood quickly soaked through the thick cloth, the red color a bleak contrast to the bright blue of her sweatshirt. Nancy pressed down harder, her lips drawn tight in a grim, thin line. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered Joe's voice barking at the emergency operator that they needed medical assistance _now_. She knew Fenton was beside her, his anxiety and helplessness nearly tangible. And some part of her knew that her father was alive, that despite all odds, he had survived the explosion. But all of that was just background noise in her head, because Frank was on the ground before her, his blood drenching her hands, his eyes closed as if they would never open again.

Joe disconnected his call with an audible snap as he flipped his cell phone shut. He glanced down at Nancy, who was still applying firm pressure to his brother's wound. She was murmuring softly to Frank, words that Joe could not hear and was sure his brother could not either. Still, Joe hesitated in kneeling down next to Frank, not wanting to interrupt her. Instead, he took a deep breath and approached his father, wordlessly laying a hand on his shoulder. Fenton shuddered slightly, and turned to grab his younger son in a hard, fierce embrace.

"Dad…" Joe said, his voice choked.

Fenton squeezed him tightly. "He'll be okay, Joe."

Joe just nodded against his shoulder, unable to respond. It wasn't fair that he had his father safe with him, something that he and Frank had desperately wanted for what seemed like so long now, and Frank wasn't able to see it and know that their father was okay. The gnawing fear that Joe felt for his brother completely overshadowed the relief that he felt at seeing his father alive. This was supposed to be a happy reunion with their father, and yet it was anything but.

Fenton pulled away from Joe and looked back at the kidnappers, the men who had tormented him and Carson for uncountable hours. Carson was in the process of using the rope that they had been tied up with to secure the wrists of one of the men.

"They told us they knew the three of you. Said they had old debts to settle. What were they talking about?" Fenton asked, his voice gruff as he overcompensated to keep it from cracking.

"We've had run-ins with them in the past, on really old cases back when we were teenagers. They both went to jail." Joe glared at the immobile bodies of Krieger and Lerner, emotions burning fiercely in his eyes. "Apparently they held a grudge."

Fenton looked back at his son, hearing the slight hint of guilt behind the anger. "None of this was your fault, Joe. They were crazy, pure and simple. To hold onto something for that long -- it wasn't a grudge, it was madness."

The strength in Fenton's voice and the conviction in his eyes were reassuring, but Joe looked down at his brother and the words just felt hollow.

----------------------------

"Nancy?"

Carson had come up behind his daughter, and there was a tremulous awe in his voice. He had seen her, known that she was alive, contrary to what the kidnappers had tried to lead him to believe. But now those hated men were out of the way, and his daughter was alive and breathing before him.

Joe stepped away from his father and knelt next to Nancy, placing his hands next to hers on the sweatshirt and pressing down on Frank's inert body.

"Go ahead, Nan," he said quietly. "I've got it."

She nodded and stood up, whirling into her father's open arms. She held onto him tightly, breathlessly. She still couldn't believe that he was alive, that he had somehow survived the explosion. But here he was, solid and steady, right in front of her. Relief turned quickly to sorrow, though, and she burrowed further into Carson's chest, seeking comfort, wishing that he could make everything okay the way that he used to when she was younger. But he couldn't take away the events of the last few days, he couldn't make Frank not be shot and dying.

"Nancy." Carson stroked his daughter's soft hair, wishing that he had some way to comfort her, to reassure her. He knew his daughter was anything but fragile, that she had more strength of mind and character than anyone he knew. But as he held her slender, shaking frame in his arms, he wanted nothing more than to just pick her up and take her away from all of this. He didn't want to see the grief and despair that were in her eyes when she looked at her fallen friend.

"It's going to be okay, honey," he whispered softly, even though they both knew that he had absolutely no way of knowing that.

Nancy just shook her head and pulled away from the embrace. She turned around to look at Frank again. Some desperate part of her still hoped that he would open his eyes, that he would at least regain consciousness, give them a sign, anything. But the rational part of her knew that it was a futile hope, that nothing but immediate medical attention would revive him. Fenton was now kneeling next to Joe, squeezing Frank's hand, murmuring softly to him. Nancy didn't know if Frank could hear him, but she hoped that he could. She wanted him to know that his father was still alive, despite what he last saw before he took the bullet for her. She wanted him to have that anchor to hold onto, to bring him back.

Moving away from her father, she knelt on the ground beside Frank, taking hold of his other hand. If it was an anchor that he needed, she wouldn't let go.

----------------------------

It was the whir of helicopter blades that drew their unwavering attention away from Frank and towards the dimming light of the late afternoon sky. The desperate tension overwhelming all of them and the steadily decreasing flow of Frank's blood had made it seem as if hours had passed in the never-ending wait, but really, Joe knew it had been no more than ten minutes. He frowned slightly as he viewed the side of the helicopter -- it was black, not the standard white and red of a MEDEVAC chopper. As it touched down a safe distance away, everyone waited with bated breath.

SAC Pennington was the first to step off of the helicopter, the spinning blades throwing his short brown hair into a windblown frenzy. He ran towards them, four other agents quickly exiting and following behind. Pennington paused beside the prone bodies of Krieger and Lerner, examining them himself, before turning around to bark orders at his team. Then he continued forward, Joe rising to his feet to meet him while Fenton maintained pressure on his older son's wound.

"Agent Hardy." Pennington looked down at Frank's unmoving, bleeding figure, then fixed his pointed stare on Joe. Joe braced himself for the questions, refraining, just barely, from ignoring the senior agent altogether and finding some way to get his brother on that helicopter. But for once, Pennington surprised him.

"Two of the agents and myself will stay behind with your fathers and the suspect. You and Ms. Drew get your brother on that helicopter and head back to Helena ASAP." Pennington gestured towards the two agents that had just approached behind him, one holding a long, flat red plastic board. From his brief stint as an EMT in River Heights, Joe recognized it immediately as a board that paramedics used to keep patients stable when transporting them. "Agent Lewis here has some training as a paramedic. He and Agent Roberts are going to assist you. There's no point in waiting for the MEDEVAC chopper -- I'll alert the response team to your status."

When Joe didn't respond, Pennington took a guess at the cause of his silence. "You appear to be wondering why we have emergency supplies on hand. Despite our limited acquaintance, Agent Hardy, I can already tell that trouble seems to follow you and your brother around. Even though carrying emergency medical equipment on an FBI chopper is not standard procedure, I thought it best to be prepared."

Joe shook his head, indicating that Pennington had missed his mark. "You said 'suspect'," Joe said quietly, keeping his tone carefully flat. "Does that mean that one of the men is dead?"

Pennington's eyes were sharp, seeing more than Joe would have liked. "Three gunshot wounds to the chest. I'd hazard a guess that he died instantly."

Joe met the older agent's eyes. Pennington had not been there when Krieger had been shot, but somehow, Joe knew that he was aware of who had fired the bullets. But there was no censure in his gaze, as Joe would have expected. Instead, if Joe wasn't mistaken, it was a look of empathy.

Then that fleeting moment was gone. "Time's wasting, Agent Hardy!" Pennington barked, in a glimpse of his usual self. "Go!" Joe nodded without further ado and knelt next to his brother again, assisting Roberts and Lewis, but not before shooting Pennington a grateful look. The older man just nodded, before returning to his other two agents and the fallen criminals. Within mere moments, they had Frank secure on the makeshift stretcher, and Agents Roberts and Lewis lifted him between them. For the first time, Joe felt grateful that his brother was unconscious, because it spared him the pain of being moved. Joe and Nancy rose to their feet, pausing to look at their fathers. Carson and Fenton both nodded at their children reassuringly.

"Go on," Fenton told them. Then, to Joe, "Take…take care of your brother," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Joe nodded and gave his father one last look before turning to follow his brother and the agents. Nancy, however, stayed rooted to the spot, indecision ripping her apart. She looked at her father, at his bruised, battered face, blood matting his hair and crusted on his skin. She had thought him dead, had felt the unbearable grief for the endless moments when she had watched the train go up in flames. And now he was here before her again, solid, real, and alive. She didn't want to leave him, because there was a part of her that was very afraid that he would disappear again if she turned away. But Frank…Frank was fighting for his life, because of her, because of her rash attack on Lerner. And the thought that he might die, that he might take his final breaths on that helicopter and she wouldn't be there with him…that thought nearly broke her.

"Nancy." The war raging on his daughter's wan face was almost too painful for Carson to watch. "Go. I'm fine, I promise." Still, the indecision remained. "I'm going to stay with Fenton, answer these agents' questions." And something about the way Carson laid a supportive hand on Fenton's shoulder finally registered with Nancy. She took in the hollow look in Fenton's eyes, and the grief and worry etched onto his pale face. He wasn't nearly as steady as he seemed, and Carson appeared to realize that. Instinctively, Nancy knew that her father wanted to help his friend, and with Nancy there, she would only be in the way. It was that thought that made up her mind for her, and after giving her father one last quick, tight hug, she took off after Joe.

----------------------------

The flight to the hospital was probably the most agonizing thirty minutes that Joe had ever endured in his life. He spent them hovering over his brother's prone form, grasping Frank's hand tightly, conveying every fear, every emotion he had through that grip rather than try to put them into words. He wanted to shake his brother, yell at him for letting himself get shot, go back and shoot Krieger all over again for hurting his brother, rewind time and find some way, some moment where he could have kept his brother from taking that bullet. But he could do none of that, he couldn't help his older brother, his partner, his friend, and the feeling of being able to do absolutely nothing nearly killed him. He tried to focus on Nancy instead, who was on the other side of his brother, holding his other hand, but he found no solace there. Her fear and desperation were written plainly across her face, and he knew that it was merely a distorted reflection of his own, too painful to look at. Vaguely, from somewhere far away, he could hear the pilot ask for special permission to land on the hospital's helipad, and all he could think was _Thank God, we're here, and Frank's still breathing_.

The rush from the helicopter to the emergency room was a blur, with doctors and nurses rapidly firing questions, commands, and directions at him, the other agents, and each other. Frank was transferred to a stretcher and wheeled away, the chaos trailing in his wake and leaving Joe and Nancy behind in a silent waiting room. Agents Roberts and Lewis politely excused themselves, but Joe barely heard their murmured words. All he could do was stare at the swinging double doors that Frank had been taken through, with the stark realization in the pit of his stomach that that may very well have been his last glimpse of his older brother alive. His throat burned, tears and grief clawing at it, but before he could release any of that, he felt a slender hand slip into his own and squeeze. Nancy stood beside him, her own gaze fixed on those same doors.

"Now we wait," she said softly.

Joe could only nod.

----------------------------

Two hours of waiting, and they still had no word on Frank. The only information they had been given was that he had been taken into surgery, and they were given directions by a harried nurse to the surgery wing to wait there. This waiting room was considerably more comfortable than the ER waiting area, presumably because concerned families and friends usually had much longer to wait for word on their loved ones. There was a large, overstuffed sofa covered with a floral slip cover, faded pink and green flowers against a light blue background. Matching sofa chairs sat across from the couch, with a mahogany coffee table littered with magazines between them. Other smaller, wooden chairs were interspersed along the walls of the room, separated by end tables alternately holding more magazines and small lamps that attempted to soften the harsh illumination of the fluorescent lights overhead. The light pastels and floral décor of the room were obviously meant to be soothing to those waiting, but it was completely lost on Nancy and Joe, who were both deeply immersed in their own thoughts, handling their anxiety and fear in their own ways. Joe alternated between pacing back and forth repeatedly, sitting on the edge of one of the big chairs and muttering to himself, or badgering any of the nurses who happened to be passing by for more information on his brother. Nancy had merely sat silently, unnaturally still, immune to Joe's movements. She had only left the waiting room once, to go to the restroom, where she had washed the blood, Frank's blood, off of her hands. Even now, she could still see the diluted red liquid circling the drain, being washed away, and the memory left a hollow feeling deep inside her.

Shortly after nine, they heard the sound of raised voices at the nurses' station down the hall. Both Nancy and Joe rose, recognizing the voices of their fathers. From the sound of it, a stern nurse was trying to get the men to seek medical attention for their injuries, while their only concern was trying to get information on Frank's condition. A moment later, their fathers appeared in the waiting room, the frustration on their faces indicating that they had gotten no more information out of the nurse than Joe and Nancy had managed.

"Dad!" Nancy launched herself into her father's open arms, still getting used to the fact that he really was okay and alive in front of her. Carson winced slightly as her momentum jarred his bruises, but he returned her tight embrace, equally reassured by the feel of her safely in his arms. Joe approached his father more sedately, but he gripped his father in an equally tight hug, and through the embrace, he could feel the slight tremors shaking Fenton's body. His father had been through so much -- his battered face was a testament to that -- and now he had to endure the horror of a son who had been shot and possibly fatally wounded.

Joe didn't know if his father was trying to reassure him or draw strength from him, but Fenton held on tightly for a few moments before finally releasing him. The older man surreptitiously wiped at his eyes before fully looking at his son. "Did you call your mother already?"

Joe nodded, not saying anything else, because he had absolutely no way to describe the range of emotions that Laura had gone through, from first hearing that her husband was alive and safe, to hearing that one of her sons was shot and might not live through the night. Finally, all he said to his father was, "You should call her yourself."

Fenton dropped his gaze away from Joe's, uncharacteristically uncertain. There was nothing that he needed more right then than to hear the sound of his wife's voice, to share his fears and worries about Frank with her. But how could he face her, tell her that she may very well have traded a son for her husband, that Frank was injured because he had been trying to save him?

A hand on his shoulder jarred Fenton from his thoughts, and he turned to look at Carson, who had approached him with one arm still tight around his daughter's shoulders. "Fenton, Joe's right. Laura will want to hear from you." Fenton still wasn't sure of that himself, but he nodded. Joe handed him his cell phone, and Fenton stepped outside of the waiting room to make the call.

Nancy looked up at her father. "Dad, do you feel up to telling us what happened?" Carson nodded and walked over to the sofa chair that Joe had recently occupied. Nancy perched on the arm of the chair, while Joe scooted some magazines aside and sat on the edge of the coffee table across from Carson. The older man gave them a small, beleaguered smile. "Sorry, kids, I'm just feeling a little drained." Nancy instantly put an arm around his bowed shoulders and squeezed. "It's okay, Dad. You've had a rough past few days." Joe nodded in agreement, and Carson pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and then began.

"It all started with a phone call that I received in my office, fairly early on Monday morning. Margaret transferred the call to me, saying that it was someone from the Chicago Medical Center, and it sounded urgent. The man on the phone introduced himself as Dr. Kimball and said that my daughter had been brought into the hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest. I didn't think, I just dropped everything and ran." Carson shook his head in disgust. "I didn't even make it to my car. I had only made it two steps into the parking lot before I was attacked from behind. I tried to fight back, but I was overpowered and knocked out. When I came to, I was bound and gagged on a cold concrete floor, and I could tell that I had been drugged. My mind was still hazy, but I could make out your voice, Nancy. That's when I knew that I had been had, that this had all been an elaborate set-up to get to you." Carson gave his daughter and Joe an apologetic look. "I can't begin to tell you both how foolish I felt. And to know that my error in judgment dragged you into this mess…"

Nancy interrupted him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulders.

"There was no way you could have known, Dad."

"Maybe." But Carson still sounded doubtful. "I remember an explosion, and then being dropped down somewhere, maybe underground. I could barely walk, so one of the kidnappers was half-dragging, half-carrying me. I remember making it to a car, being shoved into a backseat with someone else, and then I passed out. When I came to again, I was in a motel room, and the kidnappers were gone. That's when I discovered that Fenton was there with me. They had removed our gags, so we were able to talk, not that it did us much good. Fenton had experienced the same thing that I had -- he had gotten a call that his sons had been critically injured in a car accident in D.C. Apparently, he left his office immediately just as I had -- I suppose he figured on making his flight arrangements from the car. Of course, he never did make it to his car; he was attacked just as I was."

Carson took a deep breath. "Not that figuring this out did us any good. We still didn't know where we were, or what was going on. We were still tied up, so we couldn't even look around to try to figure out where we were. All we could hear from our room was the sound of traffic and trains constantly going by."

Joe caught Nancy's eye. "That must have been when they were in Chicago, setting up the bomb at Bess and George's place. The trains they heard were probably the L."

Carson leaned back to look up at his daughter, shocked. "Are Bess and George alright?"

Nancy nodded. "Thankfully, we got there in time to defuse the bomb." She didn't mention how they knew to go there in the first place, the clue that had been left on her mother's grave. She didn't want to distress her father further.

But Carson's shoulders still remained tense under her arm. "I can't believe they tried to drag Bess and George into this," he muttered. "Those men…" But then he shook his head. "Sorry, I'm digressing. Anyway, the kidnappers came back, and then one of the men left, and he was gone for a long time. But the other kidnapper was still there. He only left once, to bring us some food. I could tell that Fenton was as shocked as I was, because it was actually a decent meal for a change." Carson let out a low, bitter laugh. "Little did we know that the food was drugged. Next time we regained consciousness, we were in another dingy motel room. And the other man was back."

Carson stopped, and Nancy assumed that he was just catching his breath. But when a few seconds went by and he didn't continue, she shot Joe a concerned look.

"Dad?" she prompted gently.

"He told me you were dead." Carson's voice shook as he said those words, as he relived the mind-numbing horror of that moment. "He said that you were in an explosion, and that…that…that they'd still be picking up pieces of you."

Carson felt nauseated, the mere memory of that moment twisting in his stomach. He looked up at Nancy then, seeing the sympathy and concern on her beautiful face. The sight of that face, whole and uninjured, helped ease the knots in his stomach a little.

Nancy shifted her weight on the armrest so that she could lean over and rest her cheek against the top of her father's head briefly, seeking and giving comfort at the same time.

"I'm fine, Dad," she said softly. "I promise."

Then she straightened, continuing. "There was an explosion that morning, at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis. I was supposed to be there -- the clue that the kidnappers left us at Bess and George's told me to go there alone. But Frank and Joe stopped me, saying that we shouldn't split up." Nancy shot Joe a quick, grateful look, which he returned with a smile. Then he caught the look of confusion on Carson's face.

"The kidnappers were leaving us a trail of clues," Joe filled in, picking up on the cause of the confusion. "We were supposed to follow the clues in order to find you and Dad. The Memphis clue was the first one that we disobeyed, because there was something that just didn't feel right about it. It's good that we did, obviously. But somehow, the kidnappers found out that Nancy had survived the explosion. That's when they stopped giving us clues, and we had to figure out on our own where you were."

"So that's what made them so angry," Carson said in a low voice, almost too low to hear. Nancy gave him a questioning look. "What do you mean, Dad?"

Carson glanced up at her. "After they told me about your death, the two men left for a while. When they came back, they were very angry and upset about something. That's when they…" Carson's gaze dropped away from Nancy's. "Well, let's just say that they decided to take that anger out on us, without ever telling us why." He was deliberately vague, because he wanted to spare his daughter the details. But he couldn't hide the bruises on his face, and the tightening of Nancy's arm around his shoulders and Joe's clenched fists told him that they knew what he had not said.

Carson continued, trying to take their minds off of his and Fenton's injuries. "They blindfolded us after that, maybe to punish us further by taking away even our sense of sight. Eventually, after I don't know how long, they took us out of the motel room and put us in a car. When we got out, they shoved us into a dark compartment and took off the blindfolds, and we realized we were on a freight train. The train started moving, and we went for a while before it came to a sudden stop. We had no idea what was going on, until one of the kidnappers showed up again and told us that our time was up. Then he left a bomb on the floor of the train car, right in front of us."

"But how did you guys escape?" asked Joe.

He was answered by a low chuckle behind him, and he looked up to see his father smiling at him. "Surely you haven't forgotten that your old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve?" Fenton queried.

Carson laughed. "That he does. One of the crates in the freight car with us had the sharp end of a nail poking out of it. Fenton happened to find it while we were trying to work our way out of our bonds, and he used it to saw through the ropes on his hands. Then it was simply a matter of untying ourselves and getting out of that car.

"And for the record," Carson continued with a slight smile, "I was the one to find the crowbar on the floor of the car and brought it along in case we needed it."

"And useful it was," Fenton agreed, but the smile rapidly left his face as the memory of what had preceded the use of that crowbar came flooding back. Carson seemed to realize what his words had triggered at that same instant.

"Fenton-"

But the other man merely shook his head, and Joe rose to his feet to clap a hand on his father's shoulder.

"He's going to pull through, Dad."

Joe wasn't sure when he became the one doing the reassuring instead of being reassured himself, but his father seemed to need it at that moment. Fenton gave him a tight smile, and Joe attempted to change the subject.

"What did Mom say?"

"She's going to be coming here on the first flight out tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, there weren't any flights out tonight, but I told her that we still didn't have any word on Frank's condition and that we would let her know as soon as we heard anything." Fenton clenched a fist in frustration. "I don't understand why they haven't told us anything yet!"

As if the higher powers had just been waiting for him to utter those words, two large, mechanical double-doors across from the waiting room whirred open, revealing a pristine white hallway beyond. A petite figure dressed in standard teal hospital scrubs walked through, the doors swinging shut behind her. She pulled down the paper surgical mask covering her mouth and nose as she walked, revealing a young, pretty face. There were lines of weariness around the woman's mouth, and her eyes were hesitant, searching. She seemed to find what she was looking for, however, when her gaze alighted upon the group in the waiting room, and she rapidly walked towards them. Everyone rose to their feet anxiously as she approached.

"Are you the family of Mr. Frank Hardy?"

"We are," Fenton assured her quickly. "How is he?"

"He's still in surgery. I'm Dr. Amy Masters, the resident on the case. The surgeon asked me to come out and give the family an update. Right now, our best estimate is that he'll be in surgery for another three to four hours. We're doing our best to repair the damage that he sustained."

There was a pause, where everyone clearly expected her to continue, but she didn't seem to have anything more to say. Joe was the first to burst out with, "That's it? That's all you have to tell us?"

The resident looked taken aback. "Well, yes. I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not at liberty to say more without the surgeon's consent."

"That's crap," Joe retorted, and the low growl in his voice had Dr. Masters taking a small step back, her face paling slightly. Fenton laid a restraining hand on Joe's arm, but his expression clearly stated that he was as unhappy with this sparse explanation as his son was.

"Dr. Masters," Fenton said, in a slightly more controlled voice than Joe's. "You have to understand, that's my son in there. It's his brother. We're all in law enforcement, we know the risks. We've heard bad news before, and we've delivered our fair share as well. We just need to know. How is he, really?"

The resident still looked uncertain; it was obvious that she had not expected this much resistance and was not used to dealing with it from family members.

"Please." This time it was Nancy that spoke, and her voice shook slightly on the word. Whether it was the barely suppressed fear in her voice, Fenton's sensible approach, or merely the resident's desire to return to the operating room, Dr. Masters finally gave in.

"Look, I can't tell you much. There was an entry wound but no exit wound, and we've located the bullet inside his chest cavity with the X-rays but haven't been able to remove it yet." She took a deep breath, clearly reluctant to continue but forging on anyways. "There's a lot of internal bleeding from damage caused by the bullet. We're doing our best to repair it…" Dr. Masters paused, and it was obvious that she was now re-thinking her entire decision to say anything at all.

"But?" Joe prompted, dreading what she might say next but needing to hear it anyways.

Dr. Masters squared her small shoulders, her brown eyes becoming more resolute. "The bullet grazed his heart." She ignored the gasps and continued. "It's relatively minor damage, but heart injuries are always tricky." Her gaze had turned inward, as if picturing the body on the operating table that she had just left behind, mentally assessing the damage. But as she refocused on the four people in front of her and the stricken looks on their faces, she hastily tried to reassure them. "Dr. Andrew Warner is his surgeon; he's the best cardiothoracic surgeon in the state. Mr. Hardy's in good hands, I assure you. We're going to do everything we can to save him."

She didn't know whether her reassurances had any impact -- everyone's faces were still incredibly pale, and the older man who had identified himself as the patient's father looked as if the hand he had on his son's arm was the only thing that was holding him up. She gave them a sympathetic look but made her voice firm when she told them, "I'm sorry, but I really have to get back to the operating room now."

Fenton merely nodded wanly, and Dr. Masters turned to leave, breathing a small sigh of relief as she walked away and feeling guilty for it at the same time. She hated dealing with people that weren't anesthetized and lying on an operating table. It was irritating, really, that as a resident, she was put in the situation of giving updates to family members, yet she was not really allowed to tell them much of anything at all. She shook off her irritation, though, as the mechanical doors whirred open once more and she stepped back into the sterile environment of the surgery wing, where she was most comfortable. All that mattered now was saving the patient; that was all that ever mattered in the end.

----------------------------

Joe led his father to the chair next to the one that Carson had previously occupied, and Fenton sat down heavily. Despite his insistence on wanting to know the reality of Frank's condition, a part of him had remained cautiously optimistic that his son's injuries would not be grave, that the doctor would come out and tell them that Frank would live and make a full recovery. But Dr. Masters' report had quickly dispelled that illusion, and now there was nothing to do but wait, and pray.

Joe took in his father's pale face, the deep circles under his brown eyes, the lines of worry creasing his brow. He had never seen his father look more worn down before, and it scared the hell out of him.

"Dad, you need to get yourself checked out." Joe looked over at Carson next. "You too, Mr. Drew."

Both men began to protest simultaneously, but Joe cut them off. "Look, there's nothing we can do for Frank right now. You've both been through a huge ordeal, and you haven't received any medical treatment yet. The emergency room's right downstairs -- it won't hurt to go and get yourselves checked out by a doctor. If we hear anything about Frank, anything at all, we'll let you know right away."

"Joe, we're fine," Fenton stated firmly. Carson nodded his head in agreement. But Nancy didn't look convinced either.

"You're both injured," she argued. "Joe's right -- you need to at least let a doctor see you." Both men began to interrupt again, but she was just as quick in cutting them off as Joe. "We're already worried enough about Frank as it is…please don't make us worry about you too."

That seemed to take the wind right out of the older men's sails, and Fenton rose wearily to his feet as Carson gave a rueful sigh.

"You always were good at the guilt trips, Nancy." But there was no reproach in his words; if anything, it was fatherly pride.

Fenton looked at Joe. "You promise to come find us the minute you hear anything?"

Joe nodded solemnly. "I promise."

----------------------------

Eleven o'clock came and went, and there was still no word on Frank. Joe and Nancy had leapt up anxiously when a nurse had come by to tell them that they had a phone call at the nurses' station. But it had been Fenton, calling to tell them that the ER doctor had wanted to keep him and Carson overnight for observation, and that they were now checked into their own hospital rooms. Fenton had left the extension to the phone in his room with Joe, reiterating his request that Joe call him the second he heard anything about Frank. Both Joe and Nancy had returned to the waiting room dejected, and they now sat in silence, both lost in their own deep thoughts once again. Nancy finally broke that silence tentatively.

"Joe, I'm sorry about Frank."

"I know, Nan." His voice was thick. "I am too."

"No, that's not what I meant." She waited until he turned to look at her, until his confused eyes met hers.

"I meant that it's my fault that he got shot. And I can't tell you how sorry I am for that."

Joe just shook his head, stunned. "How do you figure that it's your fault, Nancy?"

Nancy rose to her feet, agitated, reddish-blonde strands of hair slipping loose from her ponytail with her jerky motion. Joe didn't think he had ever seen his friend look more distraught.

"Of course it's my fault!"

Before Joe could even open his mouth to argue, Nancy continued, getting progressively more upset.

"If I hadn't tried to rush Lerner after the explosion, then Krieger wouldn't have tried to shoot me. And Frank wouldn't have gotten in the way, and he wouldn't be shot. He wouldn't be here, fighting for his life right now!"

Joe just stared at Nancy, confounded by the path her twisted logic had taken her down. She had summed up the sequence of events, yes, but it hadn't even occurred to him until now that she might see herself as the root cause of all of this. In his mind, it was simple: they had been in a dangerous situation, and it had ended badly. End of story.

Nancy began pacing in the small space between the overstuffed chairs and the coffee table, her fears and frustration and guilt finding some form of outlet in the movement. Joe stood up abruptly and caught her mid-pace, his firm hands on her shoulders stilling her motion. Her chin immediately dropped downward, lowering her eyes away from his. She didn't want to face him, didn't want to look him in the eye, not with all of this guilt clawing away at her, telling her that she was the one responsible for the condition that his brother was in.

"Nancy." When she still didn't look up, he caught her chin in one hand and forced her gaze up to his. When he released it, he half-expected her to look away from him again. But no matter how beaten down she may have been feeling, Nancy still had more backbone than that. Joe was glad to see it.

"If you hadn't rushed at Lerner, I would have."

She had been expecting platitudes, the standard reassurance of how it wasn't her fault, how she couldn't have known for sure that Krieger would have pulled the trigger. But she hadn't expected this blunt declaration from Joe. She gave him a searching look, trying to decide if he had made that assertion just to keep her from feeling that she had been the only one acting rashly. Apparently he had already anticipated that assumption, though.

"I'm not kidding, Nancy. After that explosion went off, it was like something burst inside me too. I wanted to hurt something, someone. I wanted to take down Lerner, for taunting us, for killing our fathers. You just beat me to the punch."

Nancy's blue eyes were still haunted. "That doesn't change the fact that Frank got shot because of the way I reacted. That bullet was meant for me, Joe." She took a deep breath, and felt tears threaten. "I should be the one lying on that operating table, not him."

Joe's grip tightened on her shoulders, almost painfully.

"Don't say that, Nancy. Frank took that bullet because he was trying to protect you. If I had been any closer or any quicker, I would have done the same." Joe ignored Nancy's sharply indrawn breath and continued. "And you know you would have done the exact same for either one of us, if the situations had been reversed. That's just how the three of us are. It doesn't matter how much time has gone by since we all worked together; we watch each other's backs and look out for each other. Don't lessen what Frank did by feeling guilty about it."

It took several tries for Nancy to find a way to respond. When she finally did, all that she managed was, "When did you get so smart?"

Joe flashed her his trademark Hardy grin, and just that easily, he dispelled some of the tension that had risen between them.

"I've always been smart, Drew. You've just always been too blinded by my brother to notice."

When Nancy gaped at him, searching for an adequate retort, Joe just chuckled and pulled her in for a tight hug.

"It's going to be okay, Nan," he murmured into her hair, serious once again.

She nodded against his chest, but her throat had tightened and she didn't respond. He gave her a quick squeeze before releasing her.

"Come on," he said, dragging a hand through his curly blonde hair, suddenly weary. "We should at least try to get some shut-eye tonight."

"I don't think I can sleep, not knowing what's going on with Frank."

"Me neither," Joe conceded. "But we're not going to be any good to him if we don't take care of ourselves."

He had a point that Nancy couldn't argue. "I'll go check at the nurses' station to see if they have any blankets and pillows to spare. Be right back," Joe continued, walking away. Nancy took that moment to take another look around the waiting room. There was just that one couch, and those two large sofa chairs. She took one of the chairs, leaving the couch to Joe, who was taller and broader than her and could use the extra space.

Joe returned minutes later, carrying two beige blankets, made of thin, scratchy-looking wool, and very much fitting the stereotypical image of standard-issue hospital blankets. Seeing her in the chair, he nudged her leg with his foot.

"Up you go, Drew. You're taking the couch."

"You're taller than me, Joe," Nancy protested. "You should take the couch."

"Nuh-uh." Joe shook his head stubbornly. "My mother would have my hide if she found out that I forced you to sleep in an uncomfortable chair. Despite appearances, she did raise me to be a gentleman." He grinned. "Besides, do you have any idea how many stake-outs you have to do when you're the low man on the totem pole at the Bureau? I sleep more sitting up these days than I do lying down."

Nancy laughed, and the sound surprised her. She didn't think that she _could_ laugh, not with the way things were and Frank being in the condition that he was in. Trust Joe to prove her wrong. She rose from the chair, returning his grin.

"Fine, you win. But don't complain to me tomorrow if you wake up all stiff and sore."

"Deal." Joe handed her one of the blankets, and she walked over to the couch, lying down and spreading the blanket over herself. As much as she hated to admit it, it did feel good to be able to stretch out a little, and she closed her eyes as she felt some of the tension begin to seep from her body of its own accord. Second later, she felt something prodding at her head, and her eyes shot open again.

"Relax, Drew," Joe said, standing over her and pointing to a black misshapen ball next to her head that Nancy recognized as his rolled up leather jacket. "They didn't have any spare pillows, so I figured you could make do with this."

She shouldn't have been surprised at his kind gesture, but she was. Wordlessly, Nancy raised her head slightly, and Joe slipped the jacket under it. When he started to turn to go back to his makeshift bed for the night, she caught his wrist in her hand.

"Thank you, Joe," she murmured softly. She wasn't only referring to the jacket.

"Don't sweat it, Nan." Neither was he.

----------------------------

Nancy slept fitfully, catching snatches of sleep between long periods of lying on her back, staring at the fluorescent-lit ceiling. When she did sleep, she dreamt…flashing, fleeting images of explosions, gunshots, blood, and screams. Compared to that, the artificially lit ceiling above her seemed like blissful relief. But it couldn't prevent her awakened mind from wandering, seeing the same images in her mind's eye that her dreams had shown her, her fear for Frank nearly crushing her with its weight. She did not look over at Joe, afraid that he would be watching her toss and turn restlessly, afraid that she would see the same disquieting thoughts in his eyes. It was after four o'clock in the morning when he finally fell into a quiet, deep sleep. Nancy knew, because she had been checking the glowing dial on her watch frequently under the blanket, waiting to hear the sound of Joe's even breathing.

She sat up silently, the blanket making a whisper of sound as she pushed it off of her onto the sofa. Just as quietly, she reached into the pocket of Joe's jacket and withdrew the flat, hard object that had been pressing against her cheek for the past two hours, its corner leaving a slight reddened indent in her skin that she absentmindedly tried to rub away. She rose to her feet, her head spinning slightly as her exhaustion caught up with her. But she steadied herself, and with her innate stealth, slipped past Joe quietly to exit the waiting room. She stopped and looked back at him for a moment, already regretting the anxiety that she would cause him if he were to awake and find her gone. But this was something that she wanted, that she needed, to do alone. She could only hope that he would understand.

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	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Thank you so much for the incredible responses to the last chapter! I know I left everyone wondering about what Nancy took out of Joe's jacket at the end, and you guys had some great guesses. I didn't want to keep everyone waiting too long, so I'm actually updating quicker than usual this time around! **

**Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas for all of their support and feedback, and to the readers for keeping me motivated!**

**Disclaimer: Witty disclaimers are difficult to come up with after midnight. What can I say, my brain's tired. Suffice it to say, I don't own any of these brilliant characters, though I sure wish I did, so that I could become a full-time writer. Nine-to-five jobs are for the birds. **

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"Here will be fine."

The cab slowed to a stop, pulling up to the curb next to a plain, one-story brown building. Despite the late hour, the lights were on inside, and there were floodlights outside as well that lit up the bushes that flanked the front doors of the building. Beyond the stretch of building, however, the light was swallowed by the darkness of the run-down neighborhood around it, an island of manufactured light in its dilapidated surroundings.

The cab driver gave the building a dubious look, his black beady eyes surveying it, the other establishments on the street, and Nancy, standing at his window, holding out the cab fare. The light from the building caught on a long jagged scar that ran down the side of his face.

"Look lady, this ain't exactly the greatest neighborhood. Are you sure you don't want me to stick around, give you a ride back to that hospital I picked you up from?"

Nancy remained expressionless as she handed him the money. "Thanks, but I'll be okay." A small, humorless smile graced her lips. "Besides, I know karate."

The cab driver just shook his head. "Whatever, lady." As he sped off, Nancy barely caught his muttered last words through the open window.

"It's your funeral."

She watched the red taillights disappear around the corner, then turned around to face the building. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath, then pulled open one of the glass doors and walked in.

There was a uniformed officer at a desk just inside the door, staring somewhat blearily at the computer monitor before him. Nancy guessed his age to be somewhere in his lower twenties, partly because of his youthful face, and also because it was usually the younger squad members that got stuck with the graveyard shift.

At the sound of the door, the officer looked up quickly, his green eyes sharpening into focus at the sight of his late night visitor. He gave Nancy a questioning look.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

Nancy slipped Joe's FBI badge from her pocket and flipped it open, taking care to subtly cover Joe's picture with her fingers. She kept the badge close to her own body and far enough away from the officer that he wouldn't be able to read the name on the badge, and after giving him a few brief seconds to survey it, she quickly snapped it shut again.

"Special Agent Nancy Drew with the FBI. I'm here to see the suspect who was brought into custody this evening."

The officer eyed her suspiciously. "At this hour?"

Nancy gave him her best stern look. "Yes. I have some questions for him that can't wait." She cut him off as he began to interrupt. "You can confirm this with Special Agent Pennington, who brought him in, if you like. Although, Officer Douglas," she said, reading the name on his badge, "I'd caution you that it's a very career-limiting move to disturb any senior agent at this hour unless absolutely necessary."

Nancy held her breath as she finished saying this, not sure if the officer would buy her story or not. She didn't know what she would do if he didn't, if he turned her away. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but somehow, it had become imperative for her to speak to Jack Lerner tonight.

The young officer kept his green eyes fixed on hers, assessing. Whether or not he actually believed her story wasn't clear, but something in her face must have swayed him, because he stood from his desk, muttering, "Right this way."

Nancy followed him without another word, winding through the maze of desks, passing through a long hallway, and then finally, through a door that looked exactly like that of a prison holding block and required a swipe of a card from Officer Douglas to get through. Beyond that door was a row of six prison cells, three on each side. As they walked past the first four cells, Nancy saw that they were all empty. Apparently this police station in particular didn't see much traffic. As if sensing her unspoken question, Officer Douglas stopped and turned back to her.

"There's a penitentiary in downtown Helena, next to the courthouse, where all of our prisoners are sent. The cells at this station are typically only used for our 'overnight guests', as we like to call them." At Nancy's blank look, he continued with a slight smirk. "Our drunks and disorderlies." Nancy quickly schooled her expression into a knowing one, but not before she caught a glimpse of suspicion returning to his face. Once again, though, he shook it off, and instead pointed to the last cell on the left.

"There's your suspect."

From the angle at which she stood, all Nancy could see of the cell was a dim interior, closed in by evenly spaced metal bars. Still, her heartbeat quickened, because she knew that Lerner was behind those bars. Officer Douglas gave her another assessing look.

"Are you going to be alright here, Agent Drew?"

Nancy nodded, not trusting her voice. Officer Douglas gave her a small nod in return. "Okay, then. You know where to find me if you need anything." With that, he returned through the door at the end of the hallway, leaving Nancy alone with Jack Lerner in the row of cells.

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The sparse light from the single light bulb hanging in Lerner's cell left his face in shadows. He sat on a cot that was pressed against the grey cinderblock wall at the back of the cell, but as Nancy approached, he rose smoothly to his feet and walked forward, until there were only the metal bars separating them. Back on the ridge, she hadn't really taken in his appearance; she had been more focused on the gun that he had held in his hand and what he was going to do with it. But now, she noted the differences between the well-mannered man she had once known, and the hardened criminal who stood before her now. He had been middle-aged when they had first met him on the mystery train excursion, and the years had grayed his black hair further. But that was the only toll the years appeared to have taken. Jack Lerner still stood tall, proud, even more physically fit than before, with the bearing of a man who clearly had no doubts as to his own righteousness. Even the garishly bright orange of his prison jumpsuit didn't detract from this image. He wore a congenial smile on his face that did not reach his cold grey eyes.

"Ms. Drew," he greeted.

"Lerner." Nancy all but spat the name.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night visit?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it a pleasure," Nancy countered, the hostility in her voice a sharp contrast to the smoothness in his.

"But you're the one who's visiting me, Nancy, not the other way around. If you're not here for the pleasure of my company, then why are you here?"

"Because I want to know _why_." She had wanted to remain cold, impartial, but she could not stop the slight tremor that crept into her voice. Lerner heard it and smirked. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific than that, Ms. Drew."

His attitude grated on her already frayed nerves, and Nancy drew an imperceptible breath to calm herself. Her voice was deceptively even when she spoke. "We checked your records. You were released from jail early on parole for good behavior. You were a free man, Lerner. You could have moved on, done anything with the rest of your life. So why come after us? Why were you so desperate for revenge, that you were willing to go to such lengths? Was the Comstock diamond worth so much to you and Laurie?"

Lerner's tether on his control shattered. He lunged forward, gripping the metal bars of his cell so tightly that his knuckles went completely white. There was only an arm length's distance between him and Nancy; he could have reached out and grabbed her, she could have easily stepped back.

Neither moved.

"Don't you dare talk about Laurie," Lerner growled, all illusion of civility gone.

Nancy just stared at him, unable to conceal her confusion. From the moment that they had realized that Lerner was the second kidnapper, her subconscious assumption had been that this tied back to the diamond somehow, that his thwarted greed for the jewel had fueled his desire for revenge. But just now, the pain and rage that had been in his voice when he had spoken of his wife…it had reminded her vividly of how she had felt when Frank had been shot, when she had contemplated life without him, and the anger that had driven her here.

"Is Laurie…" But she couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

"Dead!" Lerner shouted, his face flushed a bright red. Nancy felt herself go pale in contrast.

"How?" she whispered.

"They said it was an accident," Lerner related bitterly. "That she was on one of those highway cleanup teams, and she somehow tripped onto the road, and the oncoming truck didn't have time to stop. That's what the wardens said, when they came and told me. But I know otherwise." His fists clenched tighter on the cold metal bars. "You'd hear things, in the penitentiary. Word had a way of traveling, even through locked jail cells. There were some women in Laurie's block who had taken a particular disliking to her. Uncouth women, the violent sort. They had it in for her from the beginning. Laurie didn't fall onto the road in front of the truck that day, she was pushed."

Nancy's throat was dry, painfully dry. The words "I'm sorry" were lodged in there, stuck because she wasn't sure if that was the appropriate sentiment. Lerner was speaking of a woman she had known, his wife, someone she had interacted with, even liked, until Laurie's criminal activities and greed for her ancestor's diamond had been exposed. For those reasons, she felt a small sense of loss, if not grief, for the woman. But she couldn't bring herself to offer condolences to Lerner. This was a man who had just tried to eliminate everyone that she loved from her life, who was responsible for Frank being shot and fighting for his life. She didn't feel sorrow for this man. She didn't feel empathy. She couldn't.

"That was a terrible thing that happened," she said, finally, "but that doesn't explain why you came after us. If you wanted revenge, shouldn't you have gone after the people you suspected of killing your wife?"

"It was your fault she was there in the first place!" Lerner shrieked, his voice reverberating through the empty cells. "If it weren't for you and your meddling friends, she would still be alive!"

Nancy shook her head in disbelief. "That's what all this was about? Because you think that we were responsible for her death?"

Without warning, Lerner struck out, his hand reaching through the bars to grab Nancy. His face was contorted with rage, flushed a deep, dark red. Nancy stepped back swiftly, just out of reach. But she did not call out to Officer Douglas. His outburst had not shaken her resolve to get to the bottom of this, to try to find some sense of understanding as to why he and Krieger had acted the way they had. She needed that knowledge, whether for a sense of closure or just a desperate need to understand, she did not know. But she wasn't leaving until she heard it all, every last bit of it.

"You bitch," Lerner snarled, his hand uselessly returning to wrap tightly around the metal bar again. "I wanted them all dead, every last one of them. I wanted you to know what it was like to lose the ones you loved."

Anger clawed at Nancy. "Then why this elaborate drawn-out game? Why not just kill them when you had the chance?"

Lerner laughed, and the sound spoke of his unstable state of mind. "Now where would the fun be in that? I wanted you all to suffer, to give you the illusion of hope of saving your fathers, knowing that the hope was futile. And you…" Lerner's grey eyes gleamed. "Even when we first met, it was apparent to me that the elder Hardy had feelings for you. Your death was meant to be an example of what it is to lose the one that you love." Grief tightened his voice, laced with rage. "You were supposed to make up for Laurie. Why didn't you die, damn you!"

Nancy look at Lerner, at the madness in his eyes, and felt a sick, nauseating churning in her stomach, mixed with an odd sense of triumph. It was the latter feeling that had her stepping closer to Lerner again, her blue eyes darkened with emotion.

"You're right, Lerner, I didn't die. Nor did our fathers. We survived, despite you, despite Krieger, despite everything that you did. You're wrong for thinking that we were responsible for Laurie's death. You were both in jail as a result of your actions, not because of me, Joe, or Frank." Nancy took a deep, cleansing breath as she felt something inside of her finally click into place. "I came here tonight because I wanted to know why you had done what you did. And before I even talked to you, I think some part of me felt responsible for everything that had happened, for Memphis, for our fathers, our friends. But now I know that I was wrong. I'm not responsible for your actions or Krieger's, or any other crazy person out there who thinks that revenge is the answer. I can't live in fear of the next person who comes along who wants to get back at me for exposing their crimes. But seeing you behind bars, realizing that someone as dangerous as you can't harm anyone anymore -- it reminds me of why I became a detective in the first place. I suppose I should thank you for that."

She fixed Lerner with a piercing stare, her blue eyes cold as ice. "But I won't thank you. Right now, Frank is lying on an operating table, fighting for his life, because of you. Krieger may have pulled the trigger, but I hold you just as responsible for this. And if Frank doesn't make it, know this: I will make sure that you never see the light of day again. I will make sure that you can't even get the death penalty, that you live out the rest of your miserable life behind bars, all alone. You are not the only one capable of avenging someone that you love."

She left Lerner with a stunned expression on his face, her head held high and her back ramrod straight as she walked down the row of cells and back out into the brightly lit station. She did not wait for a response from him, because the conversation was over. She had her answers, and she had said what was in her heart. That was enough.

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It was nearly eight a.m. when Nancy finally returned to the hospital. She had set out from the police station on foot, needing the walk to clear her head, despite the seedy nature of the neighborhood. Part of her had wanted to rush back to the hospital, not knowing what had happened to Frank, if he was out of surgery or not. But she had contented herself with checking the voicemails on her cell phone, which she had turned off when she had gone into the police station. There were two messages from Joe, one frantic, and one angry and frantic, demanding to know where she was. But there was no mention of Frank's status, which meant that he had nothing new to report. She had deleted these messages guiltily, wanting to call Joe back to reassure him, but not relishing the thought of the ensuing conversation. So instead, she had just walked, in no particular direction, allowing the cold, brisk air to revive her senses and clear her mind. She had eventually come across a main road, where she had finally hailed a cab, the quickly rising sun telling her that she had stalled long enough.

When she entered the surgery waiting room, Joe was pacing, cell phone out and in his hand. He snapped the phone shut when he saw her, the worry in his blue eyes quickly turning into a glare.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Nancy winced, knowing that she deserved the harsh rebuke in his voice. Not only had she left him without saying anything, she had also taken his FBI badge. She didn't know what she could say now to make up for that. But she needn't have worried, because Joe didn't even give her the time to answer.

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been? How I felt when I woke up and found you gone? Being worried sick about Frank is bad enough, but then not knowing what had happened to you…you even had your cell phone off!" Joe finished heatedly.

"Joe, I'm sorry," Nancy said softly. She laid a tentative hand on his arm and was relieved when he didn't shrug it off. Underneath her hand, she could feel him shaking slightly, and that caused her own worries to ratchet up a notch. Those concerns pushed even her desperate need to apologize aside. "Have you heard anything about Frank?" she asked, her shoulders tightening in fear as she braced herself for his response. To her surprise, though, some of the tension on Joe's face dissipated.

"Frank's out of surgery," he told her, his tone softening. "I was just about to try you on your cell again to tell you. He came out about half an hour ago. I've already told Dad and talked to the doctor. He's in post-op recovery right now, and after that, the doctor said we should be able to see him briefly." Joe dragged a shaky hand through his curly blond hair. "He's not out of the woods yet. The surgery was a tough one, and even though they were able to extract the bullet and repair most of the damage, he's still in critical condition. With chest injuries, apparently, the first twenty-four hours after surgery are critical."

Nancy was torn between relief and a gnawing fear. Frank had survived the surgery, and that was a blessing in and of itself. But she hated hearing that there was still a chance that he wouldn't make it. The very thought clenched her stomach into knots, and she saw the same fears on Joe's face. That made her feel even more lousy for adding to his worries.

"Joe, I'm really am sorry that I left this morning without saying anything. There was just…something that I needed to do." She pulled his badge from her jacket pocket and handed it to him, chagrined. "And I borrowed this without asking. I don't know what to say, other than I never meant to make you worry so much and I truly am sorry."

Joe took in her appearance: the dark circles under her eyes, the stray wisps of reddish blonde hair hanging limply around her face, the pallor of her skin. Despite himself, he felt a stir of sympathy.

"You went to see Lerner, didn't you."

It wasn't a question, because he already knew the answer. The guilty look in her blue eyes just confirmed it.

"You should have told me, Nancy. I would have gone with you."

"I know you would have, Joe. It was just something that I needed to do alone." Her gentle smile was meant to take the sting out of her words, but Joe just gave her a look that was a mixture of exasperation and anger. Before he could say anything, however, his attention was diverted by a shadow in the hallway leading to the waiting room. Anger subsiding, he gave Nancy a rueful smile.

"Here's a couple of people to remind you that you're not alone, Nan."

Nancy gave him a puzzled look, then turned around to follow the direction of his gaze. There, in the hallway, stood Bess and George, both looking travel-weary and exhausted. George's skin was pale under the tan that she perpetually sported. And Bess had no makeup on -- a sight that only a privileged few were ever allowed to see, and on the rare occasion at that. But despite their weariness, the look they gave Nancy was full of joy and relief.

As Nancy stepped forward into their embrace, the tears finally came.

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A/N (continued): For those of you not familiar with the Super Mystery books, Jack Lerner is a character from Mystery Train, and Laurie was his wife. The diamond that Nancy referred to was the Comstock diamond, which Jack and Laurie had tried to obtain through illegal means, only to be thwarted by Nancy, Frank, and Joe. I know there are still some unanswered questions, and I promise that future chapters will reveal more about Lerner and Krieger's end of things, how they put this elaborate scheme together.

Also, I want to apologize if there are any medical inaccuracies in this chapter regarding Frank's surgery. I've done research on chest injuries, as well as drawn upon my own limited knowledge of the medical field, but unfortunately, there's a lot of contradictory information out there. I did the best that I could with the information that I had in hand, but if there are any doctors out there reading this, I'm sorry!


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: It seems like I'm always saying this, but I truly do apologize for the lengthy delay between updates. Some of you have sent me PMs asking me when I'm going to update, and I really do appreciate the gentle nudging. Unfortunately, real life often has to take a backseat to writing, and mine has been particularly rocky lately. Still, I hadn't forgotten about you guys or this story. The good news is that I've already got the next chapter after this one written as well, so after some editing, it should be up soon!**

**Thank you all, as always, for your reviews and continued support. If it wasn't for you readers and my wonderful betas, I don't know if I could have stuck with this story as long as I have. You guys are awesome!**

**Disclaimer: After twenty-two chapters, it should be clear…I don't own 'em. If I did, Tom Cruise and Ben Stiller would NOT be allowed anywhere near the Hardy name. I'm just sayin'…**

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By mid-morning, the waiting room was brimming with friends and family of the Drews and Hardys. Fenton and Carson had both been given clean bills of health and released first thing that morning. Laura Hardy had arrived shortly after nine, and had immediately been swallowed up in her husband's arms. Chet had arrived soon after Laura and had approached Joe immediately, saying nothing but pulling him into a brotherly embrace. Nancy had borne witness to this rare display of affection between the friends; she knew that if anyone even came close to understanding exactly how Joe was feeling about his brother, it was Chet. After everything that had happened between them, it had been a relief to see that closeness returned between the two men.

Nancy looked up now during a pause in her conversation with her father to fondly survey the occupants of the waiting room. Laura and Fenton were sitting close to each other on the sofa, their hands entwined. Joe had joined his parents, sitting on the armrest of the sofa next to his mother with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Though Nancy was too far away to hear their conversation, she saw Joe say something that made Laura laugh, and his father gave him an approving nod over the top of his mother's head.

Chet was sitting on the coffee table across from George and Bess, gesturing wildly with his hands, with both girls looking very entertained. Nancy caught the words "cow", "Iola", and "markers" and figured that Chet was regaling the girls with stories from the farm. She just shook her head at the enamored look on Bess' face, smiling to herself at the comfortingly familiar expression. She had been so happy to see her friends, not realizing until that moment how very much she had needed them. Joe confessed to her after their arrival that he had called them, knowing how concerned they had been about Nancy and her father. Even after hearing that Nancy and Carson were both alright, Bess and George hadn't hesitated in taking the earliest flight out to be with Nancy, and to wait with the rest of their friends to receive word on Frank's condition.

Watching both girls now, chatting with Chet, Nancy said a silent prayer of thanks that they had also made it through this ordeal unscathed. She was also happy that Chet had decided to come to the hospital. In fact, he hadn't hesitated when Joe had called him, arriving in record time. Nancy had been the one to encourage Joe to call Chet earlier that morning. He had been reluctant, not because he didn't want Chet there, but because a part of him had still been hesitant to involve his friend in any of this even further after everything that Chet had been through. But as Nancy had gently reminded him, friends were important at a time like this, and Joe obviously felt the same way or he wouldn't have called Bess and George for her. And despite everything that had happened, Chet was still one of their closest friends, and he had a right to know if one if his friends was injured and in the hospital. It had been that argument that had finally convinced Joe, and Nancy was glad for it.

The conversations in the room continued to hum around her, and Nancy took comfort from the sound. They quickly stopped however, when Dr. Amy Masters stepped into the waiting room, followed by a distinguished looking man in his late forties. He was wearing a white coat identical to Dr. Masters', which led Nancy to believe that this was Frank's surgeon. She rose quickly to her feet and saw that everyone else in the waiting room had done the same. The man nodded at the room in general and gave them a small, tired smile.

"I'm Dr. Warner, Frank's surgeon. Mr. Hardy has been moved from post-op recovery to the ICU. I'm happy to report that his condition is stable for now, although we will be monitoring him closely for the next twenty-four hours. He's been through a lot, and he sustained considerable injuries, but he's young and strong. I have high hopes for his full recovery."

There was a moment of silence as everyone collectively released the breaths they had been holding. Laura sagged against her husband, tears of joy streaming silently down her cheeks. Nancy felt her own legs go weak with relief, and Carson wrapped a steadying arm around her waist. Then everyone seemed to begin talking at once, and Dr. Warner held up a hand with a bemused look on his face.

"It's unusual for us to have a patient with this many well-wishers here for support. I know you're all eager to see him, but I'm afraid I must insist that you limit your visits to only ten minutes at a time and respect the visiting hours of the Intensive Care Unit."

"Is he awake?" Joe asked.

Dr. Warner shook his head. "No, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. The anesthesia alone can take a while to wear off, and after that, being unconscious can often simply be a way of the body healing itself. We will, of course, continue to monitor his vitals closely. If he still hasn't regained consciousness within twenty-four hours then it may be a cause for concern, but not right now."

Fenton nodded at the man. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Warner smiled. "You're very welcome. I take it you're Frank's parents?" he asked, directing the question at Fenton and Laura.

"Yes, we are," Fenton responded, squeezing his wife's shoulders.

"If you'd like to follow me, I can take you to the ICU to see Frank now."

Fenton nodded again, then turned to Joe, who was standing at his side. Joe shook his head in response to the silent question. "You guys go ahead. I'll…I'll go see him after you're done."

Fenton knew his son well enough to understand his hesitation. Joe wanted to see his brother alone. The bond between his boys ran deep, and Fenton respected that bond enough to not push Joe any further. So he just gave Joe a reassuring smile. "We'll be back soon."

With that, he and Laura followed Dr. Warner out of the waiting room.

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The ten minutes allotted to his parents for their visit with Frank seemed to crawl by infinitesimally slowly to Joe. He watched the minutes tick by on the black and white analog clock mounted on the wall of the waiting room, the red second hand barely seeming to be making any progress. He sat alone on the loveseat previously occupied by his parents; his friends seemed to sense that he needed his space and granted it to him unquestioningly. Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the waiting room again, and he leapt to his feet. Fenton and Laura walked in, his father's arm wrapped around his mother's shoulders even more tightly than before. Dried streaks of tears glinted on Laura's face under the fluorescent lights of the waiting room, but her expression was calm. Still, the knot twisted in Joe's stomach did not loosen. Fenton caught Joe's eye and tilted his head in the direction that they had come from.

"Frank's in room 42, down that hallway."

Joe nodded silently, the knot in his stomach leaping to his throat. He followed his father's directions, down the sterile white hallway lit with more of the harsh hospital fluorescent lights. An empty stretcher stood against one side of the hallway, and across from it was room number 42. Joe stopped in front of the dull brown door, his gaze fixated on the floor, studiously ignoring the slim rectangular window that gave him a glimpse into the room beyond it. He wasn't ready to see his brother, needed to brace himself for the sight of him. But he didn't know how to prepare himself. He and Frank had both been in the hospital before; it was one of the hazards of the job and always had been. But never had the real possibility of losing his brother hit him this hard. Gone was the illusion of invincibility that had been one of the perks of being foolishly young. If there was one thing being in the FBI had taught Joe, it was that life was perilously fragile, regardless of whether you were one of the good guys or one of the bad guys. And now it was his own brother who had had such a close brush with death, and Joe had no idea how to deal with that.

_Well, going through that hospital door would be a start._

With that thought, Joe squared his shoulders and reached for the cold metal handle on the door, opening it very slowly to avoid disturbing his brother. However, with one glance at Frank, Joe realized that the precaution had been entirely unnecessary. His brother lay unnaturally still in his hospital bed, his skin nearly the shade of the sterile white sheets beneath him. Frank's eyes were closed, and as Joe drew closer, he was unnerved to see how translucent the skin appeared on his brother's eyelids, the stark pink veins in them adding the only bit of color to Frank's face. A clear breathing mask covered his nose and mouth and thin plastic tubes ran out of his arms and hands. There was a small, grey plastic piece that covered the tip of Frank's index finger on his left hand, and the wire from it ran to a heart monitor. The slow, steady heartbeat on that monitor gave Joe a small bit of reassurance; if it weren't for that rhythm, Joe wasn't sure he would believe that his brother really was alive. As it was, seeing Frank like this had shaken Joe up more than he would have cared to admit. Until that moment, Joe hadn't realized how much he had always counted on his older brother to just _be_there. To just be around, with his cool logic and warm kindness. He hadn't realized how much he had counted on his brother's strength, until he had seen him looking so fragile.

Joe sat down heavily in the thinly padded chair beside Frank's bed, feeling the warmth in it left by one of his parents. His hand reached out towards his brother's automatically, but he hesitated, seeing the IV needle sticking out of the back of Frank's hand. Instead, Joe settled for lightly touching the back of his hand with his fingertips, then withdrawing his own hand to curl into a fist on his thigh. The knot was back in his throat, strangling him, and he looked away from his brother to try to ease it. But there wasn't much else to focus on in the room. The only other furniture in the room besides Frank's bed and the chair that Joe now occupied was a high, narrow table at the foot of the bed that held a salmon-colored plastic jug with water condensing on the outside, and two matching cups sitting next to it. There was a small television set mounted in the far right corner of the room, its gray screen a blank void. The only window in the room was behind Frank's bed, but the blinds were closed to keep out the bright glare of the late morning sunshine, instead suffusing the room with a muted glow of light. And that was really all there was to the room. Finding no sufficient distractions anywhere, Joe forced his gaze to return to his brother's still form. He forcibly swallowed past the knot in his throat.

"Frank…" His voice cracked on the name. Joe had always found the notion of talking to unconscious people somewhat silly, and felt rather ridiculous himself at the moment. But now he thought he understood why people did it; not because of the certainty that their loved one could hear them, but for themselves. It was their chance to say the things that had always been left unsaid, to someone who might be unconscious, but was at least, at the moment, still alive. And there was always the chance, the slim chance, that their words might be heard. No matter what Dr. Warner had said about the sleep being good for Frank, Joe would not truly believe his brother was okay until he woke up. So he tried again.

"Frank." This time his voice was steadier, stronger. "Frank, I don't know if you can hear me or not --" Joe stopped himself again, letting out a low, reluctant laugh. "Boy, did that sound clichéd or what?" He shook his head at himself, dragging a hand through his curly blond hair. "Look, I'm no good at this. But I figure I've gotta at least try. I know I've probably never said this, but you're…you're important, Frank. You're important to me." Joe shook his head again, hating how corny that sounded. He tried for humor instead. "Who else is going to keep me in line when I lose my head over some pretty girl, huh? I doubt Nancy wants the job." Then Joe arched his eyebrows at his brother. "And speaking of Nancy, bro, that's one worried girl you've got out there. You know, the sooner you wake up, the sooner you two can finally get together…God knows it's taken both of you long enough. And I can't wait to harass you about it. After all, what are little brothers for?" Referring to their sibling relationship had the breath backing up in his lungs again, the brief spurt of humor gone. "And I need my big brother, Frank. So just…just wake up, okay?"

There was nothing else to say. Joe sat quietly, watching the rise and fall of his brother's chest, and listening to the beeping of the monitors.

----------------------------

Nancy watched Joe exit the ICU and walk down the hallway without saying a word to anyone. His face was pale, expressionless, and his blue eyes were devoid of their usual spark. He looked utterly exhausted. Nancy made to follow him, but stopped when she felt a light hand on her arm. Fenton stood beside her, his eyes on his younger son.

"Let him go," he told her gently.

"He shouldn't be alone," Nancy argued. "He's upset right now."

It felt odd to her to say those words about Joe, when he had been such a constant source of strength for her through this. But seeing his older brother had obviously taken a toll on him, and her heart went out to him. She wanted to be there for him, like he had been there for her. But Fenton shook his head.

"He just needs to decompress, and from past experience, I can tell you that he would rather do that alone."

Fenton squeezed her arm gently. "Why don't you go and see Frank? I'm sure Joe will be fine. If he's not back shortly, I'll go check on him myself."

Nancy nodded, still torn between her urge to make sure Joe was okay and her need to finally see Frank for herself. But deep down, she knew that Fenton was right. She had known Joe long enough to know that while he was often the more open of the two brothers, he was also the one who needed the time to brood alone when he was upset about something. So she nodded at Fenton and headed in the direction that Joe had come from, feeling an echo of Joe's emotions as she prepared to see Frank herself.

----------------------------

Fenton watched Nancy's departure, lost in thought. He didn't hear Carson approach him until the other man held a Styrofoam cup of coffee out to him, its bitter aroma wafting up in wisps of steam. Fenton smiled his thanks as he took the proffered cup, his gaze shifting to his friend. He was surprised to see the hesitant look on Carson's face.

"Something on your mind, Carson?"

"Yes, but I'm not quite sure how to say it," Carson admitted ruefully.

"You and I have known each other a long time, Carson. And given what we just went through together, I hardly think you need to hesitate about saying something to me," Fenton told him dryly.

Carson nodded. "All right then. I wanted to tell you, Fenton, you and Laura, how sorry I am about what happened to Frank. He was injured while trying to save my daughter. I can't begin to express the gratitude I feel for that, and the overwhelming guilt that my daughter is alive while Frank is fighting for his life."

Carson had thought that it would feel as if a weight had been lifted from his chest once he finally gave voice to the thoughts that had been plaguing him ever since Frank had been shot. But if anything, it felt as if the pressure had intensified as he awaited his friend's response. Fenton appeared to be deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

"You know, Carson, when we were in that hotel room, and the kidnappers came and told us that Nancy had died in that explosion, I remember what you went through. I was there with you, but at the same time, I really wasn't, because I wasn't experiencing the same thing that you were. The rage, the grief, the utter void of the loss of a child. There was absolutely nothing I could do, nothing I could say to comfort you, and my heart went out to you. But at the same time, a small, selfish part of me was grateful that it wasn't my boys that were dead, that for the time being, they were still alive and out there somewhere. And I felt such a strong sense of shame for even having that thought while you were grieving, but I couldn't help it."

"Fenton--" But Fenton held up a hand to hold off Carson's interruption.

"No, Carson, let me finish. I'm still not proud of the fact that I felt that way, but what I learnt from that experience is that there's nothing wrong with being grateful that your child is alive. They're our children, Carson." Fenton's voice shook slightly, and he tightened his grip on the Styrofoam cup, causing the coffee to rise dangerously close to the edges. "Yes, Frank was shot while trying to protect Nancy. But I don't regret that…if anything, it makes me even more proud of my son. Nancy is alive, and I believe that Frank will pull through. My boys are fighters, just like your daughter." A glint of humor lightened the seriousness in Fenton's eyes, and he gave Carson a small, conspiratorial smile. "Besides, if Laura's womanly intuition is correct, there may have been more to Frank saving Nancy's life than mere chivalry."

It took a moment for Carson to catch on, given that he was still trying to process everything that Fenton had said, but when he did, his eyebrows went up all the way to his hairline. "You mean, Nancy and Frank…"

Fenton nodded, the smile on his face widening. "Yes. So you see, Carson, Frank's got all the motivation in the world to wake up and get better."

Carson laughed, for the first time in days, and that pressing weight on his chest was finally gone.

----------------------------

A nurse was just exiting Frank's room as Nancy approached, her head bent as she made notes on the medical chart that she held in her hand. Nancy paused in the hallway, clearing her throat lightly to get the nurse's attention. The nurse looked up, a friendly smile on her face that went perfectly with her cheerful scrubs that sported grinning snowmen on the light blue material.

"Can I help you?"

Nancy tried to return the nurse's smile, but her anxiety wouldn't allow her facial muscles to relax.

"How is he?"

"Mr. Hardy?" the nurse questioned. Nancy nodded.

"He still hasn't regained consciousness--" as Nancy's face fell, the nurse added quickly "--but his vitals are stable."

"Do you know…when he might wake up?"

The nurse gave Nancy a reassuring smile. "There's no way to know for sure. But try not to think of it as him being unconscious, but rather as resting and healing."

Nancy nodded, not entirely reassured, but at least grateful that the nurse herself didn't seem too concerned. Surely if there was a problem the nurse wouldn't look so calm, would she? Nancy managed a small smile. "Thank you…"

"Angela," the nurse supplied.

"Thank you, Angela," Nancy said warmly.

Angela nodded, placing Frank's chart in the plastic holder beside the door. She started to leave, but then turned to Nancy again. "Remember, ten minutes per visitor." To Nancy's surprise, she then gave her a small wink. "But I won't be doing rounds again for another half hour."

With a little wave, Angela departed, leaving Nancy alone in the hallway, shaking her head ruefully at how transparent she had apparently become. She opened the door to Frank's room quietly, making as little noise as possible even though Angela had just told her that he was still unconscious. But she couldn't hold back her gasp as she saw Frank for the first time since he had been injured. Even though she had known the extent of his injuries and his current condition, she hadn't been prepared to see him looking so…weak. There were many words that she had applied to Frank Hardy in the time that she had known him, but "weak" had never, ever been one of them. He was strong, intelligent, brave, loyal, kind, handsome, full of life…not the pale shell of a man that was lying on that hospital bed, his breaths and heartbeats monitored by lifeless machines.

Nancy felt tears fill her eyes, and she walked over to Frank's bedside blindly. Up close, he looked even more frail, with hardly any color left in his face and dark circles smudged under his eyes. Nancy was struck by how much older he looked. Not just because of his injuries, but because of the time that had gone by between their teenaged years and now. His face had grown leaner, and there were the first hints of fine lines around his eyes that added to the appearance of intelligence that his face always held. Nancy smoothed her fingers over these lines delicately, then trailed them along the side of his face, tenderly outlining the curve of his breathing mask. One of her tears spilled over. There was so much that she wanted to say to him, but not like this. Not when he wasn't awake to talk back, to challenge her mind and her heart the way he always did with his own keen intellect and warmth. So instead, she settled into the chair beside his bed and slipped her hand into his.

"Do you remember, Frank, that you had promised me we would talk once this was over and we had found our fathers? We would finally get a chance to talk about us, to figure things out." Nancy squeezed his limp hand lightly. "Our fathers are safe, Frank. Now you need to get better, because you made me a promise, and I've never known you to go back on your word. So wake up, okay?" Her breath hitched, and her words tangled with the tears in her throat. So she settled for squeezing his hand again silently, prepared to wait until he awoke to say all the things that she so desperately wanted to tell him.

----------------------------


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It's hard to believe that the end is almost here. It's even harder to believe that it's been two years since I first started writing this story! I have to say, it's been quite the ride, and I can't thank everyone enough for sticking with me and this story for so long. You guys are the best! And, of course, a very special and heartfelt thanks goes out to my betas as well, who continue to challenge me to write my best and have always been nothing but supportive.**

**This is the last chapter in the story, but it will be followed by a short epilogue. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: **

_**Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the fandom**_

_**Not a creature was stirring, not even Venice's Phantom**_

_**The stories were posted, reviews written with care**_

_**In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there**_

_**The writers dreamt dreams of owning Nancy, George, and Bess**_

_**But St. Nicholas chuckled and said, "No, no, they're all owned by S&S!"**_

**What can I say, I'm just totally feeling the holiday spirit!**

----------------------------

When Nancy returned to the waiting room, she was surprised to see Assistant Director Burr speaking with Joe and Fenton in a quiet corner of the otherwise empty room. It had been almost seven years since she had last seen Burr, but he looked almost exactly the same. He had been a Special Agent back then, and he had asked her to go undercover as a student in one of his training classes in order to identify a stalker who had been harassing one of his high-profile students. In the end, Nancy, with the help of the Hardys, had proven that the student herself was posing as the stalker in order to provide a diversion for a murder that her father had committed. Burr had been grateful for the three teens' help, and he had left them an open-ended offer to join the FBI when they were old enough. She hadn't taken him up on that offer, but Frank and Joe had, and apparently in the time that had passed, Burr had been promoted to Assistant Director, and was now Frank and Joe's supervisor.

Burr caught sight of Nancy and beckoned her over to join them. As she reached the group, Joe turned to her, his face strained.

"How is he?"

Nancy hesitated. "He's still unconscious," she told him reluctantly, hating the way his face fell. "But he looked like he had a little more color," she added, and was rewarded by a small, hopeful look from Joe. She mentally crossed her fingers, telling herself that the little fib was worth it to ease some of the strain on her friend. A.D. Burr interrupted her silent debate with her conscience in a gruff voice.

"Glad to hear that, Nancy. I'd say it's a pleasure to see you again, but the current situation certainly leaves something to be desired."

Nancy inclined her head in acknowledgement. "I'd have to agree, sir. Still, it is good to see you. Congratulations on your promotion."

Burr nodded his thanks as Fenton turned to Nancy.

"You came at a good time, Nancy. Assistant Director Burr was just about to tell us what he learned from his interrogation of Jack Lerner this morning."

Burr dragged a hand tiredly through his hair, an uncharacteristic show of stress from him. Joe caught the gesture and felt a stir of sympathy for his superior -- the man had clearly had a rough few days himself, and had probably risen at the crack of dawn to fly out to Montana and interrogate the prisoner. No matter how annoyed A. D. Burr might be at him and his brother for handling this situation on their own, he knew Burr to be a man who looked out for his agents. Frank's injury was personal for him too, and Joe had no doubt that Burr had overridden Agent Pennington's authority entirely when he flew out to interrogate Lerner himself.

"I'll start at the beginning," Burr stated, interrupting Joe's train of thought. "John Krieger escaped from an Egyptian jail cell roughly four weeks ago. According to Lerner, he used his network of contacts in Egypt to escape the country immediately, returning to the U.S. under an alias."

"Was Lerner involved in his return to the States?" Nancy asked.

Burr shook his head. "No. Apparently Lerner and Krieger had never laid eyes on each other until a chance meeting in a bar in San Francisco. After a few drinks, they discovered that they did, in fact, have something in common: a mutual hatred towards Nancy Drew and the Hardy brothers."

Joe scowled. "You're telling me that all of this started because two random criminals from our past got drunk together in a bar?"

"It just takes one small spark to start a fire, Joe," Fenton said quietly. Burr nodded his assent. "Lerner already had intentions of seeking revenge on you three once he got out on parole, but his joining up with Krieger is what really set the wheels in motion. With Lerner's financial resources and Krieger's connections, they were able to quickly set up a plan to reel the three of you in."

"Lerner's financial resources?" Nancy repeated. "How is that possible? He had just been released from jail, and I don't think he was very rich when he went in. If anything, Krieger was the one with all of the financial assets."

"Krieger's assets were frozen when he was taken into custody in Egypt, so he couldn't access them. As for Lerner's resources, he was pretty vague on that part, no matter how much I pushed him," Burr admitted. "We're looking into his financial records now, but we haven't turned up anything yet, except that he seemed to have come into a large sum of money shortly after he was released from jail. In the interrogation, all he said to me was that it was thanks to a diamond, and that you three would understand."

Nancy and Joe turned to look at each other simultaneously, matching expressions of shock on their faces.

"The Comstock diamond?" Nancy asked incredulously.

"Can't be." Joe shook his head adamantly. "I watched that thing go over the edge of the bluff myself, when I knocked it out of that lunatic's hand. It went to the bottom of the bay."

"Did you see it land in the water?" Burr asked.

"Well, no," Joe admitted.

Nancy looked at Burr. "So there's a chance that it never went into the water at all, and Lerner went looking for it as soon as he got out of jail."

Burr nodded. "Looks that way. We'll have to check out the area to be sure, but I'd imagine there was probably an area of beach down there that's inaccessible to the public. Since Lerner knew where it went over, he must have gone back to look for it and gotten lucky. That would certainly explain the large amount of money that mysteriously appeared in his bank account."

"But it doesn't explain how Lerner and Krieger knew so much about us -- where to find our fathers, our friends. My history with Iola. They knew some of the most intimate details of our lives," Joe said, frustrated. "How did they get all of that information?"

"According to Lerner, it was, unfortunately, all too easy. The Internet provided plenty of background information on all three of you, with all of the news articles that you've appeared in over the years. Iola's death and her grieving brother who also happened to be one of your closest friends, the case you three solved in Memphis, Bess and George's involvement in most of Nancy's investigations, and Nancy's mother's death and the impact on her life -- it was all there. Your fathers weren't hard to find, with their own businesses advertised online. White pages listings provided addresses on your friends." Burr shook his head in resignation. "It seems that any and all information is available on the Internet these days, if you know where to look for it," he finished.

"And these men obviously did," Fenton remarked dryly.

"Yes, they did," Burr agreed. "After that, it was a matter of getting all of the details in order. They made false phone calls to each of your offices, telling you that your children were injured in order to lure you out. Lerner attacked Carson Drew, and Krieger came after you," Burr said, directing his words to Fenton. "They drugged both of you, and Lerner used a chartered flight to get Carson to New York, where they took both of you to that warehouse. We were able to trace ownership of the warehouse back to the Aquarius Group, Krieger's former company. It was purchased by one of their subsidiaries years ago, and Krieger had figured it would work well with their plans. They had the whole thing rigged before they even kidnapped Carson and Fenton, and they were ready for you three when you arrived."

"Boy, were they ever," Joe muttered, recalling the explosion in the warehouse.

Nancy nodded in full agreement, remembering her own injuries and the sheer terror that had run through her when that bomb had gone off.

"I remember the bomb," Fenton said, his voice strained with the recollection. "I was drugged at the time and pretty out of it, but the explosion was so loud that it actually registered. But I couldn't stay conscious, and the next thing I knew, we were in a motel room."

"Chicago," Burr confirmed, although they had gathered that much from the recounting of Carson's story earlier. "They had chartered another flight out there, set up the clue on Nancy's mother's grave, and then Krieger had gone the next morning to set up the bomb at Nancy's friends' apartment while Lerner made his next travel arrangements. Krieger was the one who flew out to Memphis to set up the bomb at the Peabody, since he was the explosives expert between the two, while Lerner stayed behind with you in Chicago."

"He kept us drugged the whole time," Fenton told them. "The next time I came to, we were in another hotel room, and one of the men told Carson that Nancy had died in an explosion. I suppose he was referring to the Peabody explosion," Fenton queried, looking at Burr. But Nancy was the one to answer.

"I was supposed to be at the Peabody when that bomb went off. The only reason I wasn't was because Frank and Joe kept me from going. They suspected that it might be a trap."

Fenton gave Joe a look of approval. "Good thinking, son."

"But my not going is what resulted in Lerner and Krieger attacking you," Nancy said, distressed. "Dad told us what happened to both of you."

"We would rather have been attacked than the alternative, Nancy," Fenton told her firmly. "It's a small price to pay for your life."

Nancy felt her throat tighten. There was absolutely nothing she could say to argue with that, so instead, she simply squeezed Fenton's hand in thanks. Joe nodded his agreement with his father's sentiment, as much as he hated the fact that his father and Carson had been tortured over it. He cleared his throat before directing his next question at Burr.

"One thing's been bothering me, sir," Joe said. "How did Lerner and Krieger find out that Nancy didn't die in the explosion?"

"When they set up the bomb in the bank, they linked into the wireless feed from the security cameras. Evidently in addition to being an explosives expert, Krieger was also quite the computer whiz. They watched the whole thing from a parking lot two blocks away. That's how they knew Nancy was still alive -- they saw her in the bank."

Nancy shook her head in self-disgust. "I should have listened to Frank and stayed back at the ranch."

"It wouldn't have made much of a difference, Nancy," Burr told her flatly. "All along, their plan had been to hijack a train and blow it up, your fathers along with it, and lure you three out there to witness the whole thing. Once they had you where they wanted you, they wouldn't have spared your lives either. Finding out you were alive gave them an excuse not to leave you a last clue, but they knew you three well enough to know that you would figure it out anyways. The train itself was Lerner's idea -- it was his twisted sense of poetic justice to have your acquaintance end the way it started -- with a train. Because Lerner was the one providing the financial backing, Krieger had no choice but to go along with his hare-brained ideas, even though he would rather have just killed you in the beginning and been done with it. But, of course, they hadn't counted on your fathers escaping the explosion, or the spare weapon that you carry, Joe. Despite all of their planning, you were able to take them down in the end."

"By killing a man," Joe said flatly. And just like that, he had voiced the thing that had been eating away at him, that had not left his mind despite his overwhelming worry for his older brother. He saw the look of sympathy cross Nancy's face and averted his eyes.

"Joe," she began softly.

"Drop it, Nan," he told her, unable to keep the harshness from his voice. Disgusted with himself, and everything in general, he stalked out of the waiting room, leaving everyone staring wordlessly after him. Nancy made a slight, hesitant move to follow, but Fenton stopped her.

"I'll go, Nancy," he told her quietly. At the same instant, Burr spoke. "Actually, Nancy, I'd like to speak with you privately for a few minutes." Nancy nodded, torn, as she watched Fenton follow after Joe.

----------------------------

Fenton Hardy found his younger son sitting on a wooden bench at the rear of the hospital, his elbows propped on his knees and his blond head cradled in his hands. The old bench creaked as Fenton sat down, and for a moment, he was afraid that it wouldn't hold his weight. But it remained motionless, as did Joe, who did not acknowledge his presence. Fenton used that silent moment to gather his thoughts, gazing at the serenely cascading fountain of water in the center of the small garden without really focusing on it.

"You know, Joe, I still remember the first man I killed in the line of duty," he finally began, looking over at his son's bowed head. He got no response, not that he expected one, really. He continued.

"It was my second year on the job. It was supposed to be a routine call -- alarm set off at one of those Manhattan electronics stores, attempted burglary. My partner and I responded to the call. The perps were still in the store -- they had more greed than sense, apparently. Didn't run when they heard the alarm go off -- figured they had some time to grab their loot. I guess they didn't count on us being in the neighborhood and being able to respond to the call so quickly. When we got there, they were just about to clear out. My partner and I told them to stop, to drop the goods and put their hands up in the air. I never even saw the gun. Next thing I knew, my partner was shot, and one of the men had taken off running. And the one with the gun was aiming at me next. I didn't think, just fired. Three times. They said he died on the scene. My partner lived, I lived, and he died."

Joe remained silent, unnaturally still, but Fenton could see the stiffness in his son's shoulders. Finally, Joe spoke, his voice muffled by his hands.

"What happened to the other guy?"

"They picked him up two blocks away. Apparently he didn't even know that his buddy was carrying a gun. He was crying like a baby when they took him in and he found out that his friend had been killed."

Fenton felt his chest tighten with the memories. Even though it had all taken place years and years ago, there were still times that he thought he could feel the report of the gun in his hands, see the burglar jolt as the bullets slammed into him, watch his limp, lifeless body fall to the ground. There had been many other times that he had fired his weapon in the line of duty, and there had been other deaths, but none of them had ever haunted him the way his first one had. And that was why he thought that he had some idea of how his son was feeling just then.

"You never really get over the guilt of it," Fenton told Joe quietly. "Even though you know you had no choice, that you did it to protect your own life or that of another, it still eats away at you. The ending of a life, whether innocent or not, takes its toll. And a part of you always wonders if you could have done something differently to spare that life."

"But that's just it, Dad." Joe finally looked at his father, his gaze tormented. "I don't know if I feel guilty, even though I know that I should. But there's a part of me that's still so angry, so enraged at what they did to you, to Frank. To everyone. And that part of me knows that if I had to go back and do it all over again, I'd still shoot Krieger. I'd still want him dead. So what kind of a person does that make me?" he finished, almost desperately.

"A normal one," Fenton answered without hesitation. "After what you've been through, what our families have been through, no one could blame you for feeling the way that you do, Joe. And even though you may be questioning yourself right now, I know that you killed Krieger because you had no other choice. I was there, Joe. I saw him aim for you. If you hadn't fired your weapon when you had, your mother and I might have nearly lost two sons today. You did what you had to do, and I couldn't be more grateful or more proud."

Moisture glinted in Joe's eyes as he struggled for words. In the end, he settled for wrapping his arms around his father's shoulders and squeezing tightly. He pulled away after a moment, finally feeling a sense of calm start to descend over him that he hadn't felt since this whole ordeal had begun.

"You know, Dad, earlier I was kind of jealous that Nancy had gone to see Lerner. She seemed so…settled…after she had talked to him, almost as if she had gotten some sort of closure or answer that she had been looking for. I wished that I had thought of it first, or that she had at least asked me to go with her. But now I realize that would have been a really bad idea. Partly because of my state of mind at the time, and partly because, after talking to you, I realize that I don't need to make my peace with Lerner. I need to make my peace with myself."

"I always knew there was a wise person in there," Fenton teased him lightly, ruffling Joe's curly hair, even as he felt the weight on his own heart lift.

"You mean 'wise-ass', right?" Joe teased back, smiling his first real smile in days.

Fenton chuckled. "You said it, son, not me." Then his smile slowly faded as he started to go back over everything Joe had said.

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you say that Nancy had gone to see Lerner?"

Joe mentally kicked himself. "Umm…"

"How exactly did she get in to see him?"

"Well…"

"Joe." Fenton's voice held a note of warning, clearly telling him not to lie.

Not like he had much of a choice, given how astute his father was. "Well, she kind of took my badge and pretended to be an FBI agent so that the guard would let her in to see Lerner," Joe explained in one quick rush of breath.

"That's not good," Fenton murmured.

"I had no idea, Dad!" Joe defended himself. "She left while I was asleep and took my badge. But I don't want her to get into trouble for it, either. Luckily, the guard on duty had no idea, so I think we're both in the clear."

"Joe, before I came out here, Burr asked to speak to Nancy in private."

Joe's expression now matched his father's equally apprehensive one.

"That's definitely not good," Joe muttered.

----------------------------

Fenton and Joe wasted no time heading back into the hospital, fully intent on coming to Nancy's defense. When they arrived back in the waiting room, they weren't surprised to see Nancy and Burr standing in the far corner of the room, voices lowered and expressions serious. Aside from them, the room was still empty -- Carson had left earlier to get some air, with Bess and George accompanying him, Laura had gone to freshen up, and Chet was apparently still visiting with Frank. None of them had returned yet, leaving Nancy and Burr to his requested privacy. Joe walked ahead of Fenton, determined not to let Nancy bear the brunt of Burr's full wrath, even though he had absolutely no idea what he would say to prevent that. But before he could figure it out, Chet came running down the hallway and into the waiting room, slightly out of breath.

"He's awake!" he shouted, his face ruddy from the exertion and his excitement.

Everything seemed to happen all at once. Laura came out of the restroom, just as Carson and the girls exited from the elevator. They were all just in time to hear Chet's repeated shout of his news, and pandemonium broke loose. Everyone gathered around Chet, firing out questions, and Joe actually turned to run down the hall that Chet had come from before his friend grabbed his arm.

"Can't go in there right now," Chet told him, slightly breathless, but keeping his grip firm. He looked at the group around him, at their frantic faces, and shifted in his cowboy boots. "I was sitting with him, talking to him just like they say to do." Now an embarrassed flush crept up his face. "Just mundane stuff -- scrapes we got into as kids, hanging out at Mr. Pizza, all our old friends. Next thing I know, his eyes are open, and he's looking at me, right at me. I called for the nurse right away." Chet broke into a broad grin. "They shooed me out so the doctor could look him over, but not before one of the nurses -- Angela, I think -- told me that my friend was going to be just fine."

"That I did," spoke a female voice behind him. Everyone turned to see a pretty brunette nurse approaching, Dr. Warner at her side. Both were smiling.

"I've evaluated Frank's condition. His vitals appear to be normal and his condition's stabilized." Dr. Warner paused as cheers erupted from the small group. "But," he continued, raising his voice slightly to be heard, "it's important not to forget that he sustained a life-threatening injury and underwent major surgery. He's going to have a lengthy recovery period, and it's going to be a while before he has his full strength back."

"Doc," Joe said, a wide grin splitting his face. "You just said he's going to live, right?"

Dr. Warner nodded.

Joe clapped the older man on the shoulder, nearly knocking him forward in his enthusiasm. "Then that's all that matters. My brother's strong -- he's going to make a full recovery, and quicker than you think."

As Joe's friends and family all nodded in enthusiastic agreement, Dr. Warner gave them all a bemused look. "I don't suppose it's going to do much good to tell you that you all are only supposed to go in to see him one at a time."

"No good at all, Doc," Joe reassured him, his grin growing even wider, if that were possible.

----------------------------

They found Frank awake, propped up by the back of his bed raised at a tilted angle. Nancy trailed behind Bess and George at the rear of the group. It wasn't that she wasn't eager to see Frank; she was, almost overwhelmingly so. But the thought of seeing him awake for the first time, amongst so many people, amongst their families, especially after what he had done to save her life… She didn't know what to say to him, how to thank him for what he had done, but also how to let him know how angry she was about him risking his own life. And she was especially reluctant to say any of it in front of everyone. But she knew there was no way she was going to get to spend time alone with Frank anytime soon, given how eager and anxious everyone was to see him. Nor could she begrudge him his time with his family, given what they had all been through. As it was, she couldn't wait to see his reaction when he finally saw his father, alive and well. That thought was what had her finally crossing the threshold into his room, eagerness winning out over her anxiety.

Frank gave them all a wide smile as he watched them file into the room, his eyes seeking out Joe's and giving him a reassuring nod. Joe returned the nod, relief and happiness etched into his features. His mother headed straight for Frank, placing the back of her hand against his forehead, just as she had when he was a kid.

"How are you feeling?" Laura asked him worriedly, not missing the pain that was shadowing his eyes, despite the bright smile on his face. Frank grasped her hand, pulling it down from his forehead to his lips to drop a quick kiss on the back of it.

"I'm fine, Mom," he reassured her, but she still didn't look convinced. "I asked them to hold off on the pain medication for now," he confessed reluctantly. "I wanted to be alert when I saw everyone." Before Laura could argue, his eyes lifted to Fenton's, who had come to stand beside his wife at Frank's bedside.

"Dad." There was a wealth of emotion behind that one word, and Frank couldn't stop the moisture that came to his eyes. Fenton's own eyes were damp as he grasped his son's hand tightly and squeezed, his throat too choked for words.

"You're okay?" Frank asked him anxiously. Fenton nodded, looking at Joe and Nancy standing on the other side of Frank's bedside, then back down at Frank. "Yes," he answered softly. "Thanks to the three of you."

Frank looked up at Carson, who was at the foot of the bed. "You too, Mr. Drew?" Carson nodded reassuringly. "We're fine, Frank. You all showed up just in time. I'm just sorry that you were hurt in the process."

"Speaking of which," Nancy interrupted, unable to stem the surge of words and emotions overwhelming her now that she was here with him. She tried to keep her voice stern, but it wavered anyway. "What were you thinking, Frank Hardy, getting in front of that bullet that way?"

Frank met her upset look with his steady one. "That I wasn't ready to lose you," he answered without hesitation, his brown eyes solemn. "That's all I could think of, Nan."

Nancy couldn't hold back the tears that filled her eyes as she looked down at him, oblivious to the fact that everyone in the room was watching them silently. "So you made me nearly lose you instead. That's not very fair of you, Frank."

He could find nothing to say in response. His mother thankfully gave him a reprieve by trying to lighten the tension in the room.

"There's no use arguing with him, Nancy," Laura told her, drawing Nancy's intent gaze away from Frank and up towards her. She glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye, then gave Nancy a conspiratorial wink. "The Hardy men have a certain tendency to want to protect 'their women'."

Nancy felt herself blush, slowly becoming aware that all eyes in the room were on her. She avoided meeting anyone's gaze, certain that at the very least, Joe, Bess, and George would be wearing identically smug and knowing expressions. Nancy was torn between the embarrassment of the implication that she was Frank's "woman", and the indignation of the idea that she needed to be protected. Part of her already regretted confronting Frank while everyone was there. But then Frank reached out and grasped her fingers tightly in his, drawing her attention back to him. He gave her a small wink of his own, and the smile on his face and the warmth in his brown eyes made every thought of hers fade away until there was no one else in the room but them. There was so much to be said between them, but they both knew that there would be time for that later. For now, they were both alive, and their loved ones were alive and well around them.

That was all that mattered.

----------------------------


	25. Epilogue

_Author's notes and disclaimer at end_

----------------------------

"He got it."

"No he didn't."

"He so did."

"I'm telling you, Joe, he's short."

Both brothers stared intently at the flat-screen TV as the referee brought out the bright orange chains, stretching them from the line of scrimmage. The point of the post came down, right next to the football on the ground. Then the post was pulled forward, and the chain extended another two inches, past the nose of the ball. Joe was swearing before the referee had even completed the hand signal indicating that the Patriots were short of a first down.

"Damn."

"Told you." Frank's look was smug. "You're getting the beers."

Joe grumbled as he pushed himself out of the overstuffed leather recliner, stalking out of the room in the direction of the kitchen. Frank grinned to himself, raising his arms over his head as he stretched his sock-clad feet towards the arm rest of the sofa. He was lying on the couch in their family den in a worn T-shirt and comfortable flannel pajamas, relieving himself of the mind-numbing boredom that he had experienced since he had been released from the hospital by watching Sunday afternoon football with his brother. Frank winced as his stretching pulled at the scar tissue on his chest underneath his shirt. It had been almost a month since his surgery, and although his wound had healed, the area was still tender. His doctors still had him on bed rest, so the Bureau had granted him a medical leave of absence. Joe, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky. Burr had gotten him a month's leave so that he could be at home with his family, but the Bureau wasn't willing to give him more time off than that, given the way the brothers had taken off without a word to anyone in the first place. Joe was scheduled to return to work the next day, which was why he was taking full advantage of his last day off in Bayport relaxing with Frank watching football.

It was still amazing to Frank that a month had already gone by since everything had happened. Waking up in the hospital and seeing his friends and family all there had been nothing short of incredible. And to see that his father was alive and well, after thinking that he had been killed in the explosion of the train…there were no words to describe the sense of relief and gratitude that had gone through him. And Nancy…he could still remember the gut-clenching fear that he had felt when he saw Krieger point the gun at her, when he heard that bullet go off. He didn't remember moving, never actually recognized the command that had gone from his brain to his legs to propel him towards her, to take her out of the line of fire. All that he could recall was the certainty that had gone through him that he couldn't let anything happen to her. Seeing her in his hospital room after he had woken up, alive and in one piece, had made it all worthwhile. He knew she was upset with him for putting his own life at risk to save hers. They had never gotten a chance to talk about it after that brief interlude in his room when their friends and family had been there. But his feelings about what he had done hadn't changed. He wasn't ready to lose her, not when they were just starting to rebuild their friendship, and possibly something more. And if it came down to it, he would always do whatever it took to keep her safe. That was something she'd just have to understand.

"Here." Joe had re-entered the room, waving a bottle of beer in Frank's face and shaking him out of his thoughts. Frank grabbed it, the cool condensation instantly dampening his hand. Joe plopped back down on the recliner, crossed his ankles, and took a long, satisfying drag of his beer. He was the epitome of Sunday afternoon laziness, in a faded blue T-shirt, gray basketball shorts, and worn cotton socks with a hole at the bottom of the left one. In his opinion, there was just no better way to end the weekend than a cold beer and a good game of football. Especially considering he'd be flying back to D.C the next day to return to work, and most likely facing the music for all of their recent actions. While lucky Frank got to stay home. Well, not exactly lucky -- he _had_ been shot, after all.

The thought had Joe glancing over at his brother, then frowning as he realized Frank had set his beer down on the coffee table, untouched.

"What's wrong? You're the one that made me get up and go get you that beer."

"Yeah." Frank looked at the brown bottle wistfully. "I forgot that I'm still on pain medication. I'm not so sure that I should be drinking alcohol, even if it is just beer."

Joe scowled, turning back to the television screen, but no longer focusing on the game. For the past four weeks, he had refrained from having any sort of conversation with his brother about what had happened that day out in Montana. They had given their statements to the police, they had chatted aimlessly in Frank's hospital room when Joe got his turn to visit with him. They had even talked about his injury, about Frank's recovery process. But never once had Joe said anything to his brother about the myriad of emotions he had gone through when Frank had been shot, or how torn up it made him feel to see his brother weakened so much. Joe had helped his older brother through it all, even though both of his parents were there and more than willing to lend a hand. He was the one who had taken charge of his brother's care when he got out of the hospital, helping him change his clothes when his wound was still too painful to do it himself, driving him around when Frank was going stir-crazy and just needed to get out of the house. And he had never said a word. But now, Frank's simple comment about his medication somehow had taken a wrecking ball to the mental dam that Joe had put up to keep all of his messy emotions from spewing out. Maybe it was because Joe was going back to D.C. the next day and wouldn't see his brother for a while. Or maybe because it was just time to say the things that needed to be said.

"Touchdown!" Frank cheered at the television as the running back made it into the brightly painted end zone.

"You nearly died."

Frank turned to stare blankly at his brother, his brain not quite catching up with the abrupt change in conversation.

"You scared the hell outta me, Frank." Anger was bubbling now, just under the surface, anger that Joe hadn't even been aware of. But it was fear that was fuelling that anger, a deep-seated fear that had never really been voiced between the brothers, that one might lose the other and somehow have to go on alone. And Joe had had to stare that fear in the face when Frank was in the hospital, and he hadn't realized until now how much that had truly shaken him up.

"I really want to be mad at you. I want to be mad at you for stepping in front of that bullet, for knowing that you would be shot and doing it anyway. I want to be mad at you for being reckless with your life that way." Joe took a deep breath as his brother watched him silently, and he knew that Frank was letting him get it out now that he had started.

"But I'm not mad. Because I know why you did it. Because, as I told Nancy, I would have done the same, as would she if the roles had been reversed. But dammit, Frank, don't you dare ever make me go through something like that again."

Frank was silent for another moment, then he nodded. "Okay," he said simply. Joe met his brother's solemn gaze, was calmed by the steady, reassuring look. He gave a firm, final nod of his own. "Okay," he echoed. Joe rose to his feet once again, the churning in his stomach now due to hunger rather than messy emotions. He headed towards the doorway of the den, stopping at the threshold to turn and look at his brother, who was now staring up at the ceiling pensively. The serious look in Joe's blue eyes turned to one of mischief.

"You know, your doctor said you should be off bed rest soon. I hear River Heights is real pretty this time of year. You sure you don't want me to book you a flight?"

A slow smile spread across Frank's face. "No, but you could toss me that phone."

Joe grinned, grabbing the cordless phone off the nearby table. "Sure thing, big brother."

----------------------------

Nancy stood at the low stone wall, gazing out at the choppy water below her. The icy wind off the bay whipped her reddish blond hair into her face, the strands obscuring her vision and tickling her cheeks. But she kept her hands tucked firmly in the pockets of her wool coat, opting to keep them warm rather than attempt to tame her erstwhile hair. The Golden Gate bridge stood before her in all its glory, set against a backdrop of swirling violet and gold as the sun progressed in its slow descent into the night sky. The island of Alcatraz was off to her left, its peaceful appearance belying its sordid past. The water of the bay had taken on a grayish tint from the darkening sky, the rough waves beating against the far shore of the city.

It was a view she had seen before, most memorably on a case that, in its own way, had led her back here again. When Frank had called her in River Heights two weeks ago and suggested that they meet, she in turn had suggested San Francisco. She had had time to think, almost too much of it, after her return from Montana. Her father had returned to work, but Nancy had found herself reluctant to return to school immediately and be away from her father. Which was silly, she knew, because he was a grown man, and she was a grown woman, but she had just needed to stay close, to return to the comfort of home for a while and be close to him and Hannah. So she had spoken with her professors, and they had agreed to let her make up the hours in the summer. Which allowed her to be home, but left her with nothing to keep her busy but her own thoughts. And as she had reflected on everything that had transpired, she had realized that even though Fenton and Carson had been found and Lerner was behind bars, there was still a mystery to be solved. Jack Lerner had been responsible for kidnapping their fathers and killing innocent people, crimes that had earned him the life sentence that he had been served. But the fact remained that his wife had been killed under suspicious circumstances, and although her death may have triggered all of Lerner's crimes, she deserved justice just like anyone else. So when Frank had called Nancy and suggested that they meet, she had proposed the idea of paying a visit to the prison in San Francisco where Laurie Lerner had been held. Frank had readily agreed, and they had arrived in the Bay City the previous evening.

The truth, once the red tape and bureaucracy had been pushed aside, had been surprisingly easy to find. At first, the warden of the prison had refused to entertain the possibility that Laurie's death had been anything but an accident, likely because he wanted to deny his own negligence in overlooking the matter. But Nancy and Frank had pushed, and she had even had Carson call one of his contacts in the District Attorney's office in San Francisco. It was the added pressure from the D.A.'s office that finally had the warden reluctantly interviewing his own staff to determine which inmates Laurie had had trouble with. Once a list of names had been compiled, those women had been interviewed. Of the four, only one had cracked under the pressure applied by the warden, but it had been enough. She had confessed to it all, how she had deliberately distracted Laurie with conversation so she wouldn't notice the approach of the other women, how they had waited for a vehicle to approach before shoving her out into the road, how they had told the officers at the scene that Laurie had tripped and fallen into the path of the oncoming truck. The D.A.'s office was now pressing charges, and it was safe to say that those four women would not be seeing the outside of a jail cell for a long, long time.

Nancy felt something inside herself settle at the thought. This was what had been missing, she realized. Not just the feeling of solving a mystery, but of knowing that she had been able to help bring those who had done wrong to justice, to have found answers for those who needed them. By not taking cases after her breakup with Ned, this was what she had lost. And now it felt like that missing piece of herself had been found again.

"Hey."

Nancy turned around, facing Frank, who had just returned after stepping away for a call with his brother. Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he gave her a quizzical look.

"What were you thinking about, Nan?"

She smiled softly in response. "About finding things that were lost. About finding you."

Frank's brown eyes were solemn. "I never went anywhere, Nancy."

"I know you didn't. But I did. I went away from you, from detective work. From things that mattered most to me. And I realize now how pointless it all was." She finally brushed the strands of hair away from her face, wanting to see him clearly now, as she said this. "I was so hurt when Ned left me. He blamed my detective work for causing the rift between us, and I think maybe, I did too."

Frank made a gesture, as if to speak, but Nancy stopped him with a slight shake of her head.

"You said to me before that to love someone is to love them for who they are, not despite it. I think that's what was always missing in my relationship with Ned. We loved each other, but on some intrinsic level, we never truly understood each other. There was a part of me, the part that thrives on mysteries and being a detective, that he just could never fully accept. And I could never understand how he could be such an important part of every aspect of my life except that one. With Ned, I never could quite find the right balance of being a woman and being a detective."

Nancy reached for Frank's hand, and he entwined his fingers with hers. She looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him, her blue eyes brilliant.

"With you, I'm both. I'm me. It's liberating."

"Nancy." Impossibly moved, he lifted his free hand to her face, brushing away another errant strand of titian hair before stroking her cheek. He held her gaze with his.

"For as long as I've known you, you've been this brilliant force in my life. A friend, a confidant, a partner. Someone I trust with my life. There's always been a connection between us, Nancy. I tried to chalk it up to just chemistry, an attraction between two people who often faced dangerous situations together. I had Callie, and you had Ned. But the truth of the matter is, it was much more than that. It was a…recognition. A recognition of finding someone who I was in tune with on every level, who challenged my mind, who stirred my heart. I had never felt that way before, Nancy, and I haven't since then. What I had with Callie was special, and I'll always remember it, but this, what we have, I think it's something that you find once in a lifetime, and that only if you're really, really lucky. I don't know about you, but I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose you."

"Frank." She eased his name past the tightness in her throat, cleared it to make room for more. "You're not going to lose me. In fact, you might be seeing a lot more of me soon."

She smiled at his querying look. "When you were in the hospital, I had a chat with A.D. Burr. After reprimanding me for impersonating a federal agent and telling me that I was lucky that he wasn't sending me to jail for it, he offered me a position at the Bureau once I finish school."

Frank's brown eyes shone hopefully. "Are you going to take it?"

"I didn't give him a definitive answer then, but I've had a chance to think about it. And I'm going to do it. It's something that I've always wanted to do, and it feels right." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "And it has the added benefit of letting me be closer to you."

Frank returned her smile. "I'm glad, Nancy. Not just because you're going to be close by, but because you're doing something that you want to do."

"Me too," she said softly. "On both counts." A sudden, strong gust of wind came off the bay, cutting through her coat, making her shiver.

"Cold?" Frank asked, automatically wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. To his surprise, she giggled in response. When he gave her a questioning look, she arched one slender eyebrow. "You do realize that's what you always ask me right before you kiss me, don't you?"

Frank started to pull away, an embarrassed flush rising to his face. "I didn't…I mean…I wasn't using that as an excuse to…" Nancy interrupted his stammering by grabbing the lapels of his coat and tugging him back to her. "I didn't say I was complaining, Hardy, just making an observation." She gave him an impish smile. "But just for the sake of changing things up, how about I kiss you this time?"

As Nancy rose to her tiptoes and her lips met his, Frank decided that change was a very, very good thing indeed.

----------------------------

_The End_

A/N: It's hard to say this, but this story is finally complete. I can't begin to describe how bittersweet of a feeling that is. I've been working on this story for over two years now, and it's been such an incredible experience. Never in a million years did I dream that I would receive such wonderful support or find such amazing people in this fandom. Because of this, I feel like I've had the opportunity to really improve and grow as a writer, and it's thanks to all of you -- to your reviews, your words of encouragement, your suggestions and comments. Knowing that there was such a remarkable group of people out there reading this story continually challenged me to do my best, and to edit and re-edit until I could finally feel satisfied that I was posting something worth reading. Which brings me to my betas. I have been absolutely honored to have some of the best writers in this fandom beta for me throughout the course of this story -- some have been with me from the very beginning, and some I met along the way -- all have been immensely invaluable. To **Msnancydrew** (now supernaturalsam), **TesubCalle**, **katie janeway**, **Lightwarai**, **rosa lunae**, and **Shallowbunny**: thank you. Thank you for your insightful comments, your unwavering support, and your constant encouragement. This story would not be what it is without all of you, and I am so glad to have had the opportunity to get to know each and every one of you.

Best wishes to everyone for a happy holidays and a bright new year!

Disclaimer: There have been many characters in this story that I have borrowed from the books, and sadly, I can't claim to own any of them. But I am grateful to the writers and publishing company that created these amazing characters, for giving them longevity so that generation after generation has been able to enjoy them, and so that us writers can weave our own stories and imaginations around them.


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